A Cornucopia of Conundrums
by zunaira ghazal
Summary: "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're pregnant with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _Dum spiro, spero._

* * *

Used to be, that having children was next to collecting the world's finest collection of china in Haruno Sakura's list of things to do. Maybe she'd been sniffing rosin, holed up in her ivory tower of medical accomplishments, but this sure was a like a sucker punch to the gut.

So she sat there on the edge of the tub, and ran a shaky hand through her hair. It caught on a lot of tangles, almost chipped the edge of her index fingernail, and yet she barely noticed. In a daze she stared at the two small lines; let her hand tremble and only in a split second, made a decision that should have probably been thought through a little bit more.

She emptied out a shopping bag and stuffed all five of the tests in it, then shoved them in the elastic of her pajama bottoms and hurried out. If it was anything that being a doctor had taught her, it was that when the unexpected happened, one must always have a plan B right behind the original idea. Improvising on the spot usually meant that you were taking one hell of a gamble with fate.

She was never one for gambling.

* * *

Those who live by the sword, get shot by those who don't. It was one of the foremost rules of the _Uchiha-rengo_ , and Uchiha Sasuke liked to think that by carrying both a gun and a _katana_ , he was one step ahead of fate.

He should have known. Nothing was foolproof for a sufficiently talented fool.

Long ago, when Konoha had been nothing but a well-trodden forest at the foot of a sufficiently steep hill; there had been the Uchiha and the Senju. And if the Uchiha were yin, then the Senju were yang; oil and water, all the tired clichés of every object possessing its opposite.

The well-trodden forest at the foot of a sufficiently steep hill had gradually morphed into a small commerce town on the edge of a valley; trade had attracted those who lived the sedentary lifestyle, and over time, the edges demarcating the small town had turned into a village.

And like every settlement, the village of Konoha, underneath its sunny façade, and legitimate business, hid a seedy underbelly riddled with the sores of turf wars, prostitution rings and tax frauds.

Almost a hundred years later, it continued still; the patriarchal hierarchy of two families trying to destroy the other; and in the midst of it all, Uchiha Sasuke; twenty-eight, with a questionable moral compass and a drive to be the best.

* * *

Two months ago, had been the most jubilant day of Sakura's life. What did it feel like, to finally realize a life long dream; to have the weight of one's own expectations delivered from their shoulders; she had finally known. Five years of med school; six years of residency hell, and she'd done it. She was Dr. Haruno Sakura; aiming high and going higher.

"Let us celebrate this auspicious ending," Ino had deadpanned.

"You mean, beginning, right?" she had corrected drily.

"Potay-to, pota-to," Ino had batted it off with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. Once upon a time, Ino had delved into medicine with a single-minded ambition to slay the world and rule it; but then, reality had reared its ugly head; never ending shifts, blood, gore, death and competition. Two years later, she'd gotten hired by a modeling agency, and never once looked back.

So, off they'd gone; celebrating the end of a decade, and the start of an age. And thus, had been the beginning of the end.

Ino's idea of celebration was, had and always been consuming an inadequate amount of alcohol and letting it go on the dance floor. Sakura had followed suit, for once, disregarding the embarrassment of a banana-bag she'd have to haul at the hospital the next day.

And on the verge of pushing her way into the tightly packed masses of humanity, she'd felt that distinct feeling of being observed, like someone was boring a small, sacred fire in the back of her neck. She'd whirled around and there he'd been; tall and lithe and regarding her with faint impatience; and Sakura, who had always prided herself on being a rational, sensible human being had been struck dumb—like she'd known him from somewhere before, like the wind, she'd fanned the contours of his flames. For even from such a distance, she could tell that his eyes were the color of midnight sky; dark hair fell over his gaze as he blinked, and lifted his chin upward in her direction. The action had surprised her, though she hadn't known why. With smooth features, a jaw wrought tight, an expression borne of indifference, and a stance that spoke of uncaring confidence, he'd reminded her of stone. Hard and cold. Beautiful ice, maybe.

Like a moth to a flame, she'd been attracted to him.

* * *

 _Oyabun_ Madara had two right hand men; _Wakagashira_ Izuna Uchiha and _Shateigashira_ Fugaku Uchiha _._ Under them, were the _Shatei_ and the Nine Fingers of the Red Moon; the _Akatsuk_ i—the _Kuromaku_. For as long as he could remember, Uchiha Sasuke had been dealt out the short end of the stick; a _Shatei_ for the sake of being a S _hate_ i, in the perpetual shadow of his brother's odd pacifist tendencies, so much so, that he'd taken to fleeing. At seventeen he'd convinced his father to let him study abroad with the barest intention of ever coming back, until Itachi had given him a long winded speech that had made his heart waver.

"Your first family is your blood family," Itachi had said with the calm of the night sky, "and you always be true to that. That means something. But there's another family and that's the kind you go out and find. Maybe even by accident, sometimes. And they're as much blood as your first family. Maybe more so, because they don't have to look out for you and they don't have to love you. They choose to."

Sasuke was sure his older brother felt so strongly was because Itachi hadn't chosen his own path in life. Instead, he'd been thrust into the role of an intimidating business man and golden child since an early age.

But Sasuke had chosen this life; of his own volition. The only family he'd known was the _Uchiha-rengo_ , and no matter how much he'd tried to take the Uchiha out of his blood, he'd never succeeded. Home was his mother's bright, beautiful smile and the seedy underbelly of the _boryokudo_ empire.

Leaving Japan, going to the States for studies, had been Sasuke's rebellion, his escape from what others so blithely accepted as his fate. He would not, as he'd told his father once, be the passive pawn in the chess game of his own destiny.

He would make his own.

And yet six years later, that was exactly what he was; a passive pawn.

* * *

 _Kasai_ was a _Kigyo Shatei_ disguised as a _Mizushobai_. Behind the legitimacy of club activities, ran an illegal train of drug-dealing and loan-sharking; and once in a while, a booming one-night business of _Kakuseizai_. All of this, under the watchful eye of Uchiha Sasuke.

While Itachi now served under the capacity of a _Saiko-komon_ , Sasuke was still very much a made-man. It never failed to grate on his nerves, and once in a while, when he oversaw the _boryukodo_ meeting's he liked to lament his destiny.

Standing in brooding silence at the windows of his office, the tall, dark man gazed at the panorama of twinkling lights fanning across the dance floor. Bitterness and resignation were evident in Sasuke's abrupt movements as he jerked the knot of his tie loose, then raised the shot of sake to his mouth, drinking deeply. The most recent batch of _Kakuseizai_ had been apprehended by the police, and Madara was not happy. The only people who knew the travel routes of the van were very near and dear to the operation itself, which meant it had been an inside job.

In angry frustration, he raked his hands through his hair.

Behind him, someone strode quickly in the dimly lit room. "Uchiha- _dono_ , It's time for the inspection."

"Aa," he said. Then turning from the windows, leaned against the frame. For a moment, he stared at the remaining _Sake_ in the glass, then tipped it up to his mouth and drained it.

He needed a distraction. And as he strode around the bar, checking in on business, a distraction he found. Pink, he thought, almost taken aback. Her hair was the pink of cherry-blossoms in bloom and when she turned around, he could see that her eyes were the green of sea-foam bubbling at the shore. If he were anyone else, his breath would've caught.

Their eyes held for a long moment, the green ones glassy and flustered beneath the probing of black. And then she was coming towards him and he knew he'd found his out for the night.

* * *

God he was beautiful, Sakura remembered thinking through the haze of alcohol. She remembered sitting beside him on the bar stool, ordering herself a margarita and nibbling at the sugar on the rim. She remembered his deep, probing gaze and the fire palpitating through her veins. She remembered him never speaking a word until she'd thought she'd made a mistake. She remembered his deep, throaty voice, the way it dragged out certain words, as he'd said, "Where are you going? It's still early."

She'd finally looked him in the eyes, up close then. "I know, but I have to leave. I turn into a pumpkin at midnight."

She still remembered the tiny tingle that had tricked down her spine, as a corner of his lip had tugged upward. "Your chariot turns into a pumpkin," he'd countered. "And your dress changes to rags."

"Planned obsolescence and poor workmanship, even in Cinderella's time," she'd sighed in mock disgust.

"Clever girl," he'd praised.

"Patriarchal bullshit," she'd countered, a grin working onto her lips.

The next thing she knew, they were riding up the elevator, the barely restrained sexual tension an entity of its own. She remembered studying the mobile line of his lips when they quirked suddenly, in a smirk. Her gaze had shot up, and to her utter horror she'd discovered his eyes studying her.

Caught in the act of staring—and practically drooling over him, Sakura had said the first thing that had came to her mind. "I—I'm scared of elevators," she'd improvised madly. "I try to concentrate on something else to, er, keep my mind off the height.

"Right," he'd remarked, but his teasing tone had made it obvious he was applauding not her sensible solution to her clearly false phobia, but rather her ingenuity in inventing such a plausible lie.

The elevator had opened up in an apartment and she'd barely had time to take in her surroundings before he was kissing her. His hot mouth claiming hers as he undid the buttons of her jacket and flung it open. His fingers were under her shirt instantly, gliding over her belly and sliding upward.

The cup of her bra was tugged out of the way as his hand closed over her breast, pressing her back into the wall. He broke the kiss and his other hand came up to her lips, tracing his thumb over the seam of her mouth. "I'm going to fuck you here," he'd whispered against her lips, while his fingers skimmed to waistband of her skirt and, unabashedly slid into her panties, all the way to her burning center, "And here. And—," his fingers had skimmed a little further and her breath had started coming out in short, bursting gasps, "If you would allow me; here."

She'd whimpered.

The heat of his body had pulled back, and the expression on his face had been one of unmitigated desire. His hands had balled into a fistful of her skirt as he'd pushed it up and sank to his knees. Cool air had hit her thighs and she'd held the skirt up for him. His fingers had hooked under one side of her panties, dragging them all the way down to her ankles. She'd stepped out of them eagerly.

She'd moaned as his fingers had parted her, and she'd bit her bottom lip when he'd leaned forward and licked her. His tongue had stroked and massaged her clit, and her hands had clenched her skirt tighter, straining against the fabric. Heat had swelled and expanded in her chest, strangling her breath. He'd slipped a finger inside her and she'd gasped out her pleasure.

"Find something to hang on to," he'd ordered. She'd almost laughed, but then he'd nipped her thigh and licked all the way to the center of her core. He'd kissed her there with the same intensity she'd observed in his eyes down at the bar. She'd reached blindly over her head, trying to find anything to hold, but all she could find was the cool smoothness of the wall—and then he gripped her thighs and parted them even farther as he drew his tongue down her center. It was as if he was determined to explore every inch of her, his hands holding her in place. He circled her clit once, twice, a third time, drawing sounds from her that she hadn't been aware she was capable of making; helpless whimpers and sharp cries, and through it all, a demand for _more_.

She hadn't realized she'd said the word out loud, until he drew back, nipping as he went and said, "Not yet."

Then he'd sucked her clit into his mouth, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips and tongue. Her body had went tight, unbelievable pleasure spiking through her again and again, drawn out by his mouth. It was only when her cries had quieted and her body's reaction had dimmed to a mere tremble that he gave her one last kiss and raised his head.

Silently, he'd supported her weight and led her to the bedroom.

* * *

The morning after had been a sordid affair.

Sakura had opened one eye and immediately closed it again, having felt a stabbing pain through her head that had indicated more sleep was necessary. Except that she couldn't have slept any longer. She couldn't have slept any longer because something had been wrong. Just what that something was, she couldn't exactly put her finger on—not without opening an eye again, and she was very reluctant to do that, given the pounding that had shot through her head the first time.

Still, she'd known. Something hadn't been right. Something had been, in fact, very wrong. She had not thought, for some reason, that she was back in her own bed in the cozy little apartment she shared with Ino. For one thing, her room back home was painted in soothing blues and creams. She hadn't seen any of those colors when she'd cracked her eye open. Instead, she'd had a disconcerting glimpse of wood paneling.

She had wondered briefly if she were in her parents' basement.

And another thing; she'd been fairly certain she hadn't been alone. She had never, not once during her residency, invited anyone over to her apartment. So she'd wondered whose arm was under her head—because there had definitely been an arm under her head. Which, to her sleep addled mind hadn't made the least bit of sense. Sakura had never in her life had a one-night stand, or even allowed herself to be picked up at the bar. She was, simply, not that type of a girl. And she'd hadn't had a boyfriend in a long, long time. Her commitment to her job had never allowed her such luxuries.

So she'd wondered what she was doing in bed with a very male arm draped across her chest, lightly cupping her breast.

And then memory had come flooding back, and Sakura had realized where she was, what she had been doing there, and who that hand had belonged to. She'd swallowed thickly, and after barely thirty seconds of careful consideration, slowly, painfully extricated herself from the stranger. Under the covers she was completely naked, and there had been a delicious pain between her legs. It had taken an effort of sheer will for her to draw herself from the warm bed in the almost serene quietness of the room. Even then, it wasn't until she'd splashed her face with ice cold water that her brain had begun to function.

In a daze, she slipped back in the room and picked her clothes from all over the room while the stranger slept then she'd tip toed back to the bath room, slipped on her things and talked herself out of a panic attack. She'd slept with a stranger. She'd slept with a complete, utter stranger, she remembered thinking distantly. Mutely, she'd picked a small comb from the edge of the vanity and brushed hair until the burnished strawberry and gold strands framed her face and tumbled in waves across her shoulders.

Then she'd leaned against the sink and tried not heave. Her stomach had churned like the innards of an ape, and she'd suffered a head ache of such terrifying ferocity it had been as if there was a metal brace grinding into her skull.

She'd cursed Ino profusely.

After taking quite a few deep, calming breaths, she'd found the courage to step back into the room. She'd just get to the elevator and book it the hell out of there, she'd thought.

Except, he'd been awake, sitting up in bed; gorgeous and tempting. In the semi dark of the room, the planes of his face stood out even more. Her legs had trembled. "Um, hi," she'd blurted, looking anywhere but at him.

The long wall on the right was glass from ceiling to floor, and even with half the drapes closed, provided an uninterrupted view of downtown Konoha in all its old world charm as it fanned out for endless miles in the distance below. The three remaining walls were paneled in satiny rosewood and her shoes were nowhere to be found.

The stranger regarded her groggily. But unfortunately, not groggily enough. He had been awake enough to observe. "Leaving?"

She'd straightened up, then. "Yes," she'd said, then let her mouth run loose, "I mean, you're very—um, gorgeous and I had a great night, and all, but—I don't usually do this kind of thing?" Independent of her brain, her mouth had continued to run, "Anyway, I've never had to do the walk of shame before and, um, I'd really like to stay and talk things out, but I think I'm going to be late—and stuff," she'd finished lamely, forgetting all about her shoes and slowly inching towards the door. He might've said something, had she not been so frantic to run.

And run she had, booked it the hell out of there; taken the lift to the club lobby and ran out the front door like her life depended on it.

All without her shoes.

* * *

So now, after two months, she drove her car to that godforsaken club and asked herself for the millionth time, _How did I let this happen?_

She had always prided herself on her restraint; her sensible approach at life, and yet one night courtesy of an alcohol addled mind and a gorgeous man was all it took to throw it down the drain.

She braked the car to a jarring stop beside the club, grabbed the shopping bag full of pregnancy tests and hurried up the wide flagstone walk to the lobby, feeling very stupid and very weepy.

 _What am I even going to say_ , she thought morosely and stopped with her palm on the handle of the door. And it was as she stood there, barely holding on to the tethers of her sanity that she caught the _Kanban_. It wasn't as blatantly showey as the ones the Senju's liked to use, so she could only assume this one belonged to the _Uchiha-rengo_.

A cold vortex seemed to form within Sakura's abdomen, as the full weight of that little sign settled upon her chest. A man who lived in same building the club was in. No, she thought. Slowly, as if moving through mollasis, she pushed open the door. In the cold hard light of the day, the lobby was almost fashionably sterile, with not a soul in sight. The door where the bouncer usually let people in was unmanned and Sakura pushed inside, hoping, praying and wishing beyond reason that she was wrong. Only a few steps in, and she recognized the back of his head, sitting at the bar with a bunch of corporate honchos.

She felt like stone as she stared that the set of his shoulders, and her gaze wandered to someone at his side; Uchiha Itachi, the very well known, right hand man to the Uchiha _Oyabun_. Numbly, she started at him, not comprehending what her brain was seeing. God, she thought, she'd slept with an heir of an organized crime ring and now she was pregnant with his baby.

The panic that had been slowly boiling in her chest since that morning finally started bubbling over. _Oh god_ , if she told him and if he believed her, her child was going be an automatic heir of a _crime syndicate_. There would be blood and murder and—and prostitution rings and whatnot and she'd _die_ before she let that happen. Slowly, she started backing up and right then, she saw his profile; he was striking. And there was a nobility to his bearing that, she thought, had a lot to do with his bloodline.

Uchiha. The name roared in her ears and pounded in her brain. A silent lament of denial rose in her throat as she ran towards her car, cutting off her breath. Her child was _Uchiha_. She slammed the door to the car and let out a terrified exhale. She wasn't going to tell him. She was _never_ going to tell him.

She was, she assured herself, doing the right thing.

She folded her arms on the steering wheel and burst into tears.

* * *

Ino had never, not once in the course of her friendship with Sakura seen her break like she was breaking now. Clutching her close, she was now buried in Ino's shoulder, and if the dampness on her sleeve was any indication she had no plans of stopping any time soon.

Not for the first time, she said, "It'll be okay."

Sakura didn't reply; only clutched her tighter. "My life feels like it's been through the shredder on extra-fine, totally destroy mode," she finally said in a thin, wet voice.

Ino wholeheartedly agreed. But she would never let Sakura know that. So instead, she said, "It will get better. I'll be there, and your mom and dad would be there, and I promise you, this baby will want for nothing."

"Ino, somewhere down the road, this baby is going to want to know who their father is. What will we do then?"

Ino didn't have the answer for that. "Well cross that bridge when we come to it," she said, and gently pried Sakura off herself, "But right now," she added sternly, "I need you to stop crying and wallowing. When things go wrong in life, you lift your chin and you gut that bitch. And this baby is anything but wrong."

And she hoped like hell she was right about it.

* * *

tbc

Please leave a review? :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _Fortune favors the brave. And the brave, make their own fortune. ~ The Perilous Sea, Sherry Thomas_

* * *

 _August_

Sakura was not above admitting that had it not been for Yamana Ino, she'd have never made it through the first few months. Only for a record breaking day, was she allowed to wallow in her misery, and then, like a golden goddess of vengeance, Ino had swooped in and thrown in her face: applications for Fellowships. Sakura had taken one look at the thick bundle of her shattered dreams and promptly burst into tears again.

Ino had refused to take any of it. "Haruno Sakura!" she'd cried, "You get the fuck up and apply for a fellowship _right_ this second or I'll—I'll _disown_ you!"

Sakura had sniffled at her. So Ino had sat down beside her and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Come on," she'd urged gently, "Let's get this party started again."

"What's the point," Sakura had said dispassionately. "In a few months, this baby is going to be born and I'll have to be a full time mom anyway." The notion had been so disheartening, she'd almost keeled over again.

"No" Ino had countered with such utter conviction, that Sakura had been slightly taken aback. "You'll get a maternity leave, and after a few months, you'll start taking on light shifts and the baby will go to daycare. In fact," she'd leaned forward and grabbed the bundle of applications and started sifting through them efficiently, "Let's select a hospital that has an awesome daycare as well a good fellowship program."

Sakura had put a hand on her belly and wondered what she had done to deserve Ino. "Ino—," she'd started to protest, but eyes blazing, Ino had raised a hand in the universal sign of stop.

"We're not talking about this anymore," she'd said, and with an economy of movement, shoved a handful of forms in her lap. "Start filling them," she'd ordered. "You're going to be organized, be prepared, and be on time." Her voice had been perfectly ferocious and terrifying. "If you can manage that, there might be a chance for you. If you can't, I wash my hands off you, Forehead."

In the end, they'd settled on Konoha Memorial.

A week later, she'd gotten the call.

* * *

 _September_

If Ino was a creature of whimsy, then Sakura was a creature of pragmatism. She liked to be prepared. And so, while Ino helped her manage the more…surreal aspects of her life at the time, Sakura got to work. If it was anything she'd learned in the past few days, it was that she did _not_ like to be caught unawares.

Uchiha and Senju were notoriously famous—dating back to Edo Period. Uchiha descended from the _bakuto_ branch, while Senju's had adhered from _tekiya_. Somehow, the peddling of illegal goods had turned into a big profitable business for the Senju's at the same time some, long dead ancestor of Uchiha had entrepreneured a very handsome, very illegal and very successful gambling business; and thus, the Village of Konoha had started thriving.

Disguised as _machi yakko_ , the syndicates had run like a well-oiled machine, smoothly hiding any and all criminal behavior under the disguise of _kigyo shatei_ , until one day, Tobirama Senju had murdered Uchiha Madara's only living brother.

Driven half mad with grief, Madara had ordered a _zetsuen_ on Tobirama's life, who had absolutely refused to back down. The full might of Senju, apparently against _Oyabun_ Hashirama's blessing had gone to a vicious, bloody war against the Uchiha.

Sakura had studied the statistics; the number of people who had died, most of them innocent bystanders and her heart had clenched with fear. God, she'd thought dazedly, these people were monsters.

Apparently, the gun fights and bombs and terrible, terrible stuff had gone on for more than a year and a half, after which _Oyabun_ Hashirama had ordered a _hamonjo_ on his brother as a compromise with Madara. Then, and only then, had the murders stopped. But to this day, the bitter rivalry between the two syndicates remained.

In the turf wars almost sixty years back, there had been hand guns, machine guns and, when a certain party had turned even more deranged, rocket launchers. Now, if they were to ever decide they didn't want the other side to breathe, there would be drones, 3D guns and if someone acted as senile as Madara had acted back then, neutron weaponry.

She had closed her eyes and let that sink in. Then tentatively, she'd reached out and ran a search on the _Uchiha-rengo_. Three tiers down the family tree she'd found him. Uchiha Sasuke, his name was. In the small headshot attached to his name, he seemed so… _human_ ; like he wasn't capable of such cold-blooded savagery.

If she hadn't just had an eyeful of Uchiha Madara's sanguinary antics, she might have been tempted to reach out to him.

* * *

 _October_

Every morning, since the end of September, at precisely seven in the morning, Sakura's insides heaved, and she would barely be able to make it out of bed and to the side of the toilet before every bit of food she'd eaten the night before came right back up.

How long she'd kneel there, heaving, she wouldn't know. But when she would come out of the bathroom—feeling a bit better, the basketball-sized jumble of nerves in her stomach shrunk to the size of an acorn—Ino would be waiting for her. Bleary eyed, she'd pat the space next to her and Sakura would collapse in her arms.

"Ino-chan," she'd asked one day. "How does one have unprotected sex and not remember it?"

"Remember the sex?"

"No. The distinct lack of a condom."

"It must've been one hell of a night."

"Augh," Sakura had grumbled in disgust. "It was."

Ino had sighed tiredly. "Fucking shallow, double-crossing creep. He's a little better than a common prostitute."

"Sure, let's go with that," Sakura had agreed.

They'd lay there for a while until Ino had to get up for an early demonstration. Sakura had offered her a ride, and on the way, Ino had very matter-of-factly told her, "You can't go regretting stuff because there wasn't anything else that could've happened."

Sakura had eyed her sideways as she's slipped on her sunglasses and examined herself in the rearview mirror. "What do you mean?" she'd asked.

"You know," Ino had said, slipping off the glasses and rubbing a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her mouth, "It's cause and effect. Every time anything happens, it's because of all the other things happening all over the world. Any time you make a decision, there wasn't anything else you could've done because it was who you were, and it was all the things that had happened up to then that made you decide that. So there's no point regretting anything."

A moment of stunned silence, and then Sakura had scoffed. "So by your logic, all my life has led to the point where I say fuck it, I want that dick?"

Ino had laughed; and the loud, happy cadence of it had made Sakura smile. "Hey, _you_ are the one who said it."

* * *

 _November_

In the biting cold of November, Sakura had finally mustered the courage to get her first ultrasound. The room had been bright and sterile and the seat had been cold. She could see the soft flakes of snow falling outside the window, and she'd imagined that it would feel just as cold as the ultrasound gel being rubbed on her belly. She hadn't told anyone; not even Ino. She'd wanted to do it alone—to see her baby for the first time in the privacy of her mind and soul and not be judged if she found she didn't love it.

She needn't have worried. The moment she heard the small, amplified heartbeat; she was in love.

So much so, that when she had been handed the picture, she'd made a beeline to her car with a fist sized lump in her throat and driven all the way to the outskirts of Konoha suburbs, and parked right in front of her mother's neat, manicured lawn.

There had been tears in her eyes as she'd rung the bell—and rung it again and again and again, until Mebuki had pried the door open and stopped dead in her tracks. Those clear, bright orbs of brown had regarded her—tiny baby bump and all—with an intensity that had made her warm with embarrassment.

Without a word, Mebuki had opened the door just as wide as her arms, and Sakura had felt like a child as she'd hugged her mother close.

"Who's the father?" Mebuki had asked in her blunt, no-nonsense way that night.

"I don't know," Sakura had lied.

They hadn't shown it, but Sakura could tell her parents had been disappointed.

"He didn't—," Kizashi has started fretfully, looking anywhere but at her, "He didn't force himself on you right?"

" _No_ ," Sakura had been quick to reassure. "No, no, no. It was totally consensual and a total mistake!"

Kizashi had exhaled in relief.

"Does he know?"

Sakura had been smart enough to notice the shrewd glint in her mother's eye to recognize the trick in that question. "I just told you," she'd said slowly, patiently, deliberately as to leave no room for doubt. "I don't know who he is, where he is, where he's from, or—anything."

"Then we'll find him," Kizashi had assured gently, slipping an arm around her shoulders and holding her close. Sakura had melted in his embrace, all the worries slipping off her shoulders, if only for a moment.

"Please don't," she'd asked them in a small, vulnerable voice. "I don't want him to know."

And that had been the end of that.

* * *

 _December_

"What do you think it'll be; a boy or a girl?" Ino asked excitedly.

"I bet it's a boy," said Mebuki, sure and confident of herself.

"Nope. It's definitely a little girl in there," said Kizashi, grinning in the driver's seat. "I can tell."

"Yes," said Mebuki, a smile in her voice, rolling her eyes fondly, "Like you can tell the difference between an eggplant and a brinjal."

"Hey!"

Sakura laughed. "I really don't care."

"Twenty bucks says it's a he," Ino challenged from the back.

"I'll be very happy to take your hard-earned money, Ino-chan," said Kizashi happily.

"Are you guys seriously betting on the gender of my baby?" asked Sakura incredulously.

"I'm with Ino-chan. You're definitely losing this one, husband," said Mebuki completely ignoring Sakura's indignant cry of 'hey!'

At the hospital, they'd all stood around the ultrasound table, and Ino had attached herself to the sonogram machine, which she knew how to read. Sakura's OB had not been impressed, and as soon as the monitor had transmitted the video, Ino's eyes had found Sakura's.

"It's a girl," she'd whispered wetly.

Sakura had known. Somewhere deep inside, she'd known. Her baby was a girl—a strong, smart, independent, beautiful girl. She was going to love her so _much_.

"Oh," Mebuki had choked on happy tears and Kizashi had had to put an arm around to support her. Together, they'd helped Sakura up, and held her in their arms.

God, she'd thought, her daughter was going to be born in so much love.

* * *

 _January_

"Wow…" Moegei had frowned in disapproval. At seven months, Sakura's belly was perfectly swollen, and her mood swings had taken an exchange of sorts with weird food cravings. The baby especially liked to eat ice-cream with bell-peppers. It had not been as disgusting as Sakura had feared.

"Sensei," Takumi, one of the Resident's on her team had probed hesitantly. "Touya-san is awake. His kidneys are recovering nicely."

"That's great, honey," she'd patted him on the cheek and he'd scowled like an adorable puppy.

She knew her resident's weren't exactly fond of her patronizing maternity, but she made up for it by giving them live opportunities to learn in the OR. The baby now weighed exactly 2kg's and measured approximately 44 cm from head to toe. More than twice a day, she changed positions, and Sakura made sure to check her fetal position at least once, to make sure she would crown perfectly.

"Senseii," said Moegi, leaning a little in her chair and smiling playfully, "When's your baby due?"

"Two months," Sakura replied, chewing on a stick of raw bell-pepper and flipping through her tab. "Miyazawa-san's craniotomy is in two hours. Who wants to take the lead?"

All hands shot up and Sakura grinned. "Well let's see who won't crack his head on the first try."

* * *

 _Feburary_

Eight months in and she'd felt like she hadn't seen her feet in decades. She wadled around the house when Ino was out and watched all six seasons of Winx Club sitting straight backed in bed when Ino was home; It was the only thing the baby allowed her to watch.

The pressure on her bladder was incredible. Every time she felt comfortable, her body decided it was time to pee. And thus, she'd lay long hours in the night, planning for the baby's future; she'd visit her every hour in the hospital day-care, make sure to keep any and all technology away, at least for the first few years, and when she would be old enough, she'd send her to an amazing Kindergarten she'd researched on KonohaOnline a few days ago. They'd visit Mebuki and Kizashi every Saturday and when the baby would turn five, she would quit the hospital and start a private practice.

Her name, she decided, would be Sarada; from Saraswati. Like the Goddess, her baby would be kind, gentle, wise and courageous.

Not once in her plans, she'd made contingencies for Uchiha Sasuke.

* * *

 _March_

The day her water broke, it had been a downpour. The wind had risen to a howl and the first fat drops of rain had splattered just as they'd reached the hospital. Sakura had barely managed to keep herself upright as her father had driven like a mad man all the way to the hospital. Every time a contraction hit, she'd gasp and had have to brace herself against the side of the car door; it had felt like the baby had pinched the inside of her abdomen—hard. Each sensation had been short, but the dampness between her legs had been irritatingly sobering.

"Ino," Mebuki had shouted in her phone, while holding tight to Sakura. "Her water just broke. Hurry!"

Grasping the sides of the hospital bed, Sakura had been surprised at the intensity of the contractions. For several minutes, she could talk and relax; then the ache in her back would turn into a searing pain that had felt like her entire midsection had been squeezed by a tourniquet of straight pins. Then the pressure would ease, and all she'd be left with would be a dull ache in her back.

She'd been between one of those, when Ino had been ushered into the room in a whirlwind of sanitary gowns and antiseptic masks. Gingerly, she'd held on to Sakura's other hand as she'd arched her back and grit her teeth against the fiery pain of a contaction.

They'd been there; all three of her people as she'd screamed and raged at the nurse to put it in—just _shove it_ the _fuck_ back in and _cut it out of her_! They'd been there as she'd let out the tail end of a wail that had fused together with Sarada's as she'd slipped out of her.

They'd been there as she'd, weary, and bone tired and sweaty, been handed her baby, and they'd been there as she'd held her close and cried—because, she'd finally realized; this little slip of a human, so beautiful and so breakable and so damn precious, had been the best thing that ever happened to her.

* * *

 _Keep leaving me reviews and I'll be sure to update soon! :)_


	3. Chapter 3

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _"I am an inferno, I am a tempest. I am venom and fangs and claws. I am lightning and starlight, and I am hell in high heels."_

* * *

At six months old, Sarada absolutely refused to sleep at night. At precisely one in the morning, she would begin to wail, and cried well into the wee hours of the night. Sakura became used to holding her close, checking her diaper and carrying the warm weight of her body around the house. She was a precious little thing; a small bundle of warmth that refused to leave Sakura's arms for the better part of the day.

And so, she learned to be a mother. She learned how to function while constantly worrying about another tiny little human being, she learned to be unsurprised when the first thing that popped into her head was Sarada, and most of all, she learned how unconditional a mother's love could be.

* * *

 _July, 2008_

Sakura was not proud of the fact that the first few months after her birth, she'd been terrified to hold her baby. She tried not to show it; but it was there, in the subtle language of her movements. All her life, she'd handled delicate things with deft hands; a small kidney, a frail vein, even the human heart—but every single time she'd held Sarada, her heart had been overcome by an irrational fear. _What if I drop her?_ she'd think while gingerly picking her up. _What if I break her?_ she'd think, carefully affixing her in her lap. For a fun-sized midget, Sarada sure packed some weight.

"You're not going to break her, Sakura-chan," Mebuki told her gently one day.

Bleary eyed and a little bit out of it, Sakura could only manage a, "Huh?"

"I'm saying," said Mebuki again, just a tad bit stern, "Stop treating Sarada-chan like a china doll. She's a healthy, happy baby. She's not going to break just because you pick her up the wrong side up."

Sakura had blinked her bewildered discomfiture. "Oh," she'd said miserably.

* * *

 _October, 2008_

Four months post pregnancy, Sakura was quite used to the frequent heaviness in her breasts.

"God, how do you deal with it?" Ino had asked in wonder.

Sakura had shamelessly held her shirt aloft by the neck, and stuffed some tissues down her bra. Sarada had gurgled happily in her stroller.

" _Stop_ that!" Ino had hissed, mortified, leaning forward in her chair to block some of the view. "They're going to kick us out for public indecency!"

" _Public indecency_?!" Sakura had been outraged. "I'm a brand new mother, who is still figuring out how my body works! How is this public indecency!" she'd cried. "I'd like to see _you_ try lugging around two cantaloupes on your chest and never know when they'll leak!" she'd eeked out and sniffled, all the while glaring at Ino.

Ino had been speechless, holding her hands out in silent surrender.

As if she'd been alerted to her mother's distress, Sarada had let out a well drawn-out baby whimper. Sakura had gently fished her out of the stroller and hugged her close.

"I'm sorry," Ino had apologized miserably. "I never know what to say, these days."

Sakura's eyes had softened and she'd exhaled sullenly. "It's not your fault. I haven't slept in days." She'd pried Sarada away and kissed her sloppily on the cheek. "She keeps me up all night," she cooed, rubbing her nose lovingly against Sarada's. Sarada had babbled happily and just like every other time she'd smiled, Sakura had felt her heart fill to the brim with so much love, her throat would clogged with it. "Awww," she'd cooed, planting a kiss on Sarada's cheeks, on her nose, on the soft tuft of hair on her head.

"She's so beautiful," Ino had whispered from across. "You both are."

Sakura had adjusted Sarada in her arms and smiled cheekily. "We love you, too, _Oba-chan_."

* * *

 _April 2009_

Eight months in and Sakura had started looking for a new place to live. The commute to the hospital took too long from the suburbs, and she was not completely unmindful of her parents. They were getting old, and taking care of a growing, new-born was taking its toll on them. There were lines now, under Mebuki's eyes, and Kizashi's broad smile seemed just a tad bit strained nowadays.

"But you _don't_ have to!" Kizashi had argued loudly, patting Sarada on the back, pacing around the room, trying to burp her.

Sakura had sighed tiredly, taking note of Mebuki's unhappy scowl. "I think it's time."

Just last month, Sarada had almost plugged her fingers into a socket while crawling and sent the entire household into a baby proofing frenzy. Kizashi still had trouble opening the toilet lid, and she could tell how much it annoyed her mother to unplug the contraption on the fridge.

"Well that's just—"

Her father never got to finish his sentence, because just then, Sarada let out a long, agonized wail and puked all down Kizashi's back.

There had been a beat of stunned silence.

"See," Sakura had said then, picking herself up tiredly and gently prying the baby away from her father. "You're definitely too old for this."

* * *

 _May 2009_

Ino's boyfriend of the time, Sai, had moved in with her in their old apartment; and offered to lease her his vacant one. It was a fifteen minute walk away from the hospital, and just about roomy enough for a single mom and her baby. Ino had helped her baby proof.

"Why is she crying so much?" Ino had asked, adjusting a wailing Sarada on her hip and cooing at her.

"She's teething," Sakura had sighed tiredly.

"Aw." Ino had held her closer and pouted. "It sucks to be you, baby girl."

At the hospital, Sakura had started spending every spare moment at the daycare.

" _Sensei_ ," Moegi had shouted over Sarada's frequent wails. "I need you sign off on Natsu-san's discharge sheet."

Sakura had carefully looked over the papers while bouncing Sarada on her hip to calm her down. "Take one more CAT scan and show me the results. We'll talk discharge then."

"Is something wrong?"

"Hmm," Sakura had commented nonchalantly, prying away a lego from Sarada's mouth. "I just have a feeling."

* * *

 _December 2009_

Sakura was coming to realize that with Sarada, there were so many firsts; first breath, first cry, first smile, first tooth, first laugh—so many already gone, and a million more to come. Tiny little happy moments, no one to share with. And in those moments she felt a naked sort of lonliness. She understood then, the desire for a partner; someone who would have loved Sarada just as much as she, if not more and she thought of Uchiha Sasuke—cooped up in the crazy world of the _yakuza,_ terrorizing the citizens of Konoha one _shobadai_ after another.

She wondered what would have happened, had she told him. Would he have believed her, offered to help her, loved Sarada as much as she did? Just for a moment, she let herself envision Sarada in his arms, happy and content; then she shook herself out of the reverie and laughed as Sarada waved her chubby little arms jubilantly at the window.

The first flakes of snow had just fallen, and Sarada had just taken her first step.

She took out her camera and snapped a picture.

* * *

 _March 2010_

For whatever reason, Sarada's second birthday turned out to be a huge affair. From Moegi to Takumi, Ino, Sai, Kizashi, Mebuki and the grandmother who lived next door; everyone was invited. Sakura couldn't remember when a simple birthday party turned into such a grand affair, but she was happy—because Sarada was happy.

Before she knew it, she was haggling for an inflatable princess castle on her cell phone while cutting into someone's intestine. Ino was tasked with finding the perfect princess cake and Sarada was dragging _Obaa-chan_ and _Ojii-chan_ to the nearest Mall for the perfect princess shoes.

On the day of the party, it was a toddler-fest. Sakura had a hard time believing that her daughter, who wasn't even old enough to string complete sentences had _so_ many friends.

She was a happy child, Sakura realized. Sarada was a happy child; she'd done something right.

"Augh, she's—"

"Half my heart, half my soul." Sakura finished for Ino, then turned sideways to look her in the eyes.

Ino slung an arm around her shoulder and grinned. "Pint-sized bottle of happiness," she agreed.

* * *

 _October 2010_

Sai announced his intention to marry Ino right as Fall was morphing into Winter. Like the commitment phobe she was, Ino managed to flee the moment and find shelter in Sakura's apartment.

"Don't you love him?" Sakura asked softly, gently running her hand through Sarada's hair. It was soft and straight and halfway to her shoulders now. Sarada had quickly taken to amateur hairstyling.

"I _do_!" Ino whispered fiercely, the side of her head levered over a raised elbow. The room was dark around them, and long ago, on the ceiling, Sakura had pasted glow-in-the-dark stars.

"Then what's the problem?" asked Sakura, tucking a sleeping Sarada close.

"It's just—," Ino started, face frantic, not knowing how to explain, "It's just—I love him so much, it _terrifies_ me!"

Sakura's lips slowly tugged into a smile that morphed into a smirk. "Never thought I'd see the day," she teased.

"Not! Funny!" Ino whisper-yelled. "It just—he's a little rough around the edges but he tries so hard and—and I _love_ him so much, Forehead!"

Sakura's smile softened. "You love him. He loves you. Go be happy together."

"It's not that simple," Ino insisted.

"What is not simple about it?" Sakura asked delicately.

Ino seemed to struggle for words, thoughts, anything—excuses really, while Sakura looked on, amused and weary.

"I find the concept of marriage terrifying," she finally confessed. "It's so—permanent! What if I decide one day that I hate the smell of his—his—turpentine! What will I do then?!"

Sarada stirred in her sleep and both of them quietened until she settled back. Then Sakura took a deep breath and pursed her lips. "Ino," she said sternly, "If you decide you don't like the smell of his _turpentine,_ you will compromise and keep your mouth shut. Or you'll nag him until he—I don't know! Throws it away?"

"That's the point! I don't want to compromise! I don't like compromise!"

"You big baby!" Sakura laughed. "You've been living together for a year. He does the laundry and you do the dishes! It's already compromise!"

A beat of silence, then, "Shit," Ino whispered fretfully. "Shit, crap, f—"

" _Hold_ it right there!" Sakura cried quietly. "Don't ruin my child!"

Ino looked at her with wide, saucer like eye.

Three days later, she said yes.

* * *

 _January 2011_

The start of the new year wasn't as fresh a start for Konoha as the media frenzy was bullying the people to believe. Uzumaki Naruto, the _Senju-rengo's_ odd belligerent pacifist, defected the _boryokudo_. The news was stumped at the very roots of every media outlet; but no Senju could ever stop the word of mouth; how many tongues could they possibly cut off?

Long ago; there had been an uncomfortable treaty—the Uchiha and Senju, each got a term in the parliamentary legislative. That meant no one took the presidential seat of Hokage until and unless the boryokudo admitted you to. There had been a long standing tradition of behind the scenes fraudulent enterprise; corruption, crime, felonies, violence; all chalked up to the latest statistic. Only one person had ever had the gall to defect the boryokudo; Tsunade Senju, grand daughter of Hashirama Senju himself. No one ever knew what happened to her, but three months into her defection, two bodies had been found on the outskirts of Konoha's woods—Nawaki Hashirama and Dan Kato, Tsunade's known family of the time. Their deaths had been distinctly publicized.

Namikaze Minato had been the _boryokudo_ appointed Hokage for five years, followed by Hatake Kakashi of the _Uchiha-rengo_. Now that his term was coming to an end, as Namikaze's son, Uzumaki Naruto had been next in line.

In the days that followed his defection, Konoha became a city of ghosts. Uchiha were never kown to not pounce on such an opportunity, and the citizens of Konoha were expecting a turf war. There had been no news on what became of the former Senju-heir; but everyone expected a dead boy to be found soon.

No one ever did.

Sakura made sure to end her shift before sundown, those days.

* * *

 _September 2011_

Ino's wedding was a whirlwind of colorful dahlia's and fairy lights. Her dress was a patchwork of colorful designs and shiny beads; and her smile was a thousand megawatt. At the table of honor, Sakura assumed the grand position of maid of honor; sitting by Ino's side, listening to her tinkling laughter. In her lap, Sarada smiled widely.

"Are you going to have a baby now, _Ibaa-chan_?" Sarada asked innocently. Slightly shell shocked and a little lost for words, Ino could only blink twice.

Sakura laughed. "No, honey. She still has a long way to go."

Sarada retreated in her mothers embrace, deep in thought. "Is it because she still has to find her flower?"

Ino almost did a spit-take on her Champaign. "Flower?" she asked incredulously.

"Mmhm," nodded Sarada, with all the wisdom of her three years, "Mama says when she asked for me, _Kami-sama_ sent her a flower and she took care of it and _Kami-sama_ was so happy he gave me to her."

Ino pursed her smile and looked at Sakura with laughing eyes. " _Really_ , Mama?"

"Yes, Ino-chan," Sakura insisted pointedly.

"Aw," said Ino, smiling and opening her arms wide for Sarada to climb into her lap. When she'd settled down, Ino rested her chin on her head and smiled wickedly. "I think," she started jauntily, "Your Mama meant _seed_. _Kami-sama_ gave her a _seed_ and she grew it into a flower. And when the flower bloomed, we got you."

Sarada gasped. "Really? I came from a flower?"

"Technically you came from a _seed_ , but yes honey, let's call it a flower," Ino's eyes met Sakura's horrified gaze.

" _Pig!_ " she cried in outrage, "You're _dead._ I will _kill_ you with my bare hands!"

Somehow, Ino survived.

* * *

 _April 2012_

"It's like… _magic!_ "

Sarada's eyes were rounded in awe as she sat next to Sai while he blended one color into another to create a beautiful plethora of shades that merged into an image of the evening sky.

"It's really not," Sai-jiji told her kindly.

"It sure is!" piped _Ibaa-chan_ , popping up out of thin air and kissing Sai-jiji on the cheek. "Won't you do the dishes, honey?" she asked sweetly, and Sai-jiji sighed dejectedly. "Of course, Gorgeous," he said, and got up to disappear around the kitchen.

"See, Sara-chan," Ibaa-chan plopped down in front of her and opened her arms wide. Sarada scooted into her lap obligingly and she continued, "The world is full of willing people; people who are willing to do the work—and people who are willing to let them."

Curious, Sarada cocked her head to the side. "Which one are you?"

She winked and kissed the side of Sarada's cheek. "I let them," she whispered in Sarada's ear.

"And which one is Mama?" she asked inquisitively.

"Hmm," _Ibaa-chan_ thought about it, "Considering she got roped up in the OR today, I'd say she does the work. But, considering how she likes bossing people around, I'd say she doesn't. Bizarre woman, your Mama."

"What's ba-zaar?"

"It means weird," said Ibaa-chan, tickling her sides playfully. "Your Mama is _weird_."

Sarada forgot her retort in between peals of laughter.

* * *

 _August 2012_

Every other weekend, Sakura would make sure to drive down to the suburbs with Sarada. Mebuki and Kizashi always insisted on treating them out; and thus family night had long since become an inherent tradition.

Sakura watched as Mebuki quietly let Sarada win at several rounds of monopoly and she smiled, went back to work on the garden with Kizashi.

"This year, it'll be white brinjals," said Kizashi, wiping away his brow and ripping out the weeds from his vegetable patch.

"White?" asked Sakura curiously, shearing off an ill looking stem.

"Ah, your mom wanted to try something new. Oh—and the strawberries will be ripe by next week. So don't forget to drop by."

Sakura shoveled some mud around and side eyed the small plants. "Really? They're kind of tiny, right now."

"It'll grow up in two, three days," said Kizashi, beaming with pride.

"Mama, I'm going after _Obaa-chan_!" Sarada yelled from the porch.

Sakura leaned forward and carefully examined the small, green and sad looking seedlings that would grow into a strawberry. "Okay, honey," she called back, and then, "We'll see next week," she told Kizashi with thinly veiled skepticism.

They went inside and washed up. Kizashi cleaned his gardening equipment and Sakura helped him put it back. By the time Mebuki returned, it was almost time for dinner.

"Shibuya- _san_ talked my ear off," she muttered gruffly. " _Neko-chan_ this, _Neko-chan_ that— _Kami-sama_ he needs a life!"

"Who's _Neko-chan_?" Sakura asked, plopping onto the couch and spreading her arms about, like she did back in her childhood. "And where's Sara-chan?"

"His cat," answered Mebuki, rolling her eyes, "I don't know. She was playing the ladder game on the porch when I left."

Immediately, Sakura's face sharpened. "No, she went with you."

"I think I would have her if she went with me, child."

"But," said Sakura, panic suddenly clogging her throat, "She said— _where is she_?"

"What's wrong?" asked Kizashi, and sobered up when he saw the panic on their faces.

"Sarada! She—we can't find her!" said Sakura, flitting around the house, calling out Sarada's name, hoping, praying and wishing she was hiding out somewhere they couldn't think to look.

"SARADA!" she shouted, as Kizashi ran outside and Mebuki rounded around the corner with the phone.

"Let's look around the neighborhood," she suggested and Sakura ran after her, panic seizing her chest like a vice. _Oh god_ , she thought numbly, _my baby_.

Half an hour later, the nearest rescue station had been notified and half the neighborhood was patrolling the streets while Sakura sat on the porch, terrified and on the brink of hysteria. Her legs felt like lead, barely supporting the weight of her body and her hands trembled with anxiety.

It was a twenty-year old young man named Konohamaru who finally managed to find her.

"She was walking down the street with this weird looking _Oba-chan_ ," he told them solemnly. "I think she was taking her somewhere—well, _not good_."

Sakura hugged her close, felt her small heart beating in tandem with her own and exhaled a loud sigh of relief. Then she pried Sarada from her embrace and slapped her.

It would be the only time in her life she hit her.

* * *

 _February 2013_

Somehow, despite careful supervision; day-in and day-out of careful brushing of teeth, Sarada developed a cavity. After a month of silent tears, bellyaching, little to no eating and trying all-nighter's, Sakura decided to take her to a dentist.

"It'll get better sweetie," Sakura kissed her on the cheek. "I promise."

The doctor decided since it was a milk tooth, they were going to take it out, promised Sarada three days of an ice-cream and frozen yogurt diet. All was well and good; until Sarada was made to sit on the chair of horror. They never got to take the tooth out, and Sakura never forgot her screams.

On and on it went; the silent tears, the pain, the big doe-eyes—and week after week of useless doctor appointments.

"What _happens_ , Sarada?"

From behind a puppy pout, wide eyes and a swollen cheek, Sarada whispered, "It's _scary_."

Sakura inhaled a deep, shuddery breath and asked all the deities she knew for infinite patience. " _Nothing_ is going to happen, sweetheart."

But no matter what Sakura said, Sarada's fear was deeply rooted. And so was her pain.

So one day, while Sarada sulked back in her seat, confident in her childish stubbornness, Sakura recruited Ino and they went to dentist—again. _For the last time_ , Sakura prayed silently.

Inevitably, by the time Sarada sat at the edge of the seat, the wailing started. But this time, Sakura had a plan; she held back Sarada's shoulders and planted her firmly in the middle of the seat while Ino held her wrists and an assistant held her feet. All the while Sarada screamed and wailed and tried to break every hold. Tears ran down her cheeks as her mouth was held open and a large injection poked numbing agents into her jaw.

After that, the tears stopped.

"That's what you were scared of?" Sakura asked incredulously, "The needle?"

Sarada bowed her head in shame.

"Oh, boy," Ino laughed, arms crossed on her chest, grinning her relief.

Sarada barely even flinched when the dentist jerked her tooth out, and bravely spit the blood in a bowl until an assistant fixed a small cube of ice inside her cheek.

Sakura sagged against Ino. "It's done," she sighed in relief. "It's over."

"Be honest," Ino asked. "You were going to sob when she was crying, right?"

"Hell, yeah!"

* * *

 _September 2013_

Sarada had an enormous passion for high heels. Whenever Sakura visited Ino—which was quite often, Sarada would dig into her shoe compartment with fervent zeal and model each and every shoe she liked while Ino hosted their own private catwalk and Sakura solemnly judged.

"Aaand now!" cried Ino, holding on to a fake mike and smiling into a camera that wasn't there, "Our last item; the rare, the beautiful and amazingly _gorgeous_ burgundy Miu Miu's!"

And out stepped Sarada, wobbling down her make shift catwalk and posing next to Ino. Sakura snapped a quick picture, tucking her phone away so as not to break character.

Ino crouched down next to Sarada. "I think these are especially gorgeous! What do _you_ think judge?"

"I disagree," intoned Sakura, in her best deadpan, "I think the model is infinitely more gorgeous than the shoes."

Sarada burst into laughter and Sakura grinned.

Later, when they were putting away the shoes, Ino announced that she was having a baby.

Sarada gasped. "You found your seed!" she cried gleefully.

Sakura sputtered and blushed to the roots of her hair while Ino grinned cheekily. "Ahan," she told Sarada and scooped her up in her lap. "Sai- _jiji_ gave me one."

"I—Ino!" Sakura stammered, " _No_!"

Ino just winked at her.

"Will you show me your flower?" Sarada asked innocently.

"Only when it grows up."

* * *

 _April 2014_

She was six years old when she first asked that dreaded question.

"Where's my Papa? Don't I have one?"

She was hesitant and tentative and Sakura felt like she'd been preparing her whole life for this, but couldn't say a word.

"Is…" Sarada started again in a lilting voice, "my Papa dead?"

It was enough of an assumption to jolt Sakura out of that particular fit of disquietude. Still, she sat still, arms too heavy with the weight of the situation to even touch Sarada.

"Is he?" Sarada asked again and finally, Sakura found the will to swallow past the lump of fear in her throat. She willed her arms to move, scooped Sarada close to herself and grasped her hand tightly.

"Honey," she said gently, "I—," she stopped, sighed and looked around for inspiration. No words seemd right.

"Is Papa…a bad person?" Sarada ventured tentatively, whith clidlike innocence.

Sakura struggled with the weight of those words. What could the word ' _bad'_ possibly mean in the vocabulary of a five year old child? What could she possibly tell this girl—that her grandfather owned a chain of restaurants to better aid his heroin trafficking? That her uncle could have anyone in this city shot on a whim? That her great grandfather ran a gamut of prostitution rings that thrived on human trafficking?

That her father didn't know she existed—and that in Sakura's eyes, was her _own_ biggest crime?

She wanted to hold Sarada close and beg for forgiveness, beseech for clemency. _You are the greatest joy of my life_ , she wanted to say _, and I'm sorry that one day you'll have to know those people—know that you're related to that_ vermin _. I'm sorry that it would be my fault_.

Instead, she said, "Yes, honey. He's not...a good person."

"Did he hurt you, Mama?"

"No, baby," she said, "But he hurts a lot of other people."

* * *

 _May 2014_

Nine months in and Ino's pregnant belly had been huge. The first time Sarada had seen the baby bump, she'd burst into tears.

"What's wrong Sarada-chan?" Sakura had asked worriedly.

" _Ibaa-chan_ ate her baby seed!" Sarada had cried in horror. Despite having multiple awkward conversations with Sakura, she had refused to talk to Ino for a month.

Emotional with an overload of hormones, Ino had blubbered with tears. " _Sara-chan_!" she had cried out indignantly.

Sakura had just shook her head in disappointment. "This is all your fault," she'd told Ino. "If you hadn't told her that seed thing, this wouldn't be happening right now."

"You're the one who came up with the whole _flower_ bullshit!" Ino had accused tearfully. "I mean what the hell! Why didn't you just tell her the truth!"

Sakura had gasped with indignation. "I'd like to see _you_ having a conversation about _sex_ with _your_ baby!"

In the end, it had been Sai who'd managed to smooth things over.

"What did you tell her?" they'd asked, after Sarada had had a teary reunion with _Ibaa-chan_.

"I'd tell you, but you'd kill me," he'd told them with a closed lipped smile.

* * *

 _July 2014_

It was the middle of summer when Sarada fell ill. At first, it was a regular, generic summer flu. Then there was the hundred and four degree temperature. In the middle of a consult, Sakura had gotten the call.

"Mama, my neck hurts."

She'd rushed off to the school, coaxing her students to cover for her.

"Honey," she'd said, only slightly exasperated, leaning over the gear shift to lock Sarada's seatbelt in. "It's your throat that hurts, not your neck, okay?"

"But isn't my neck also my throat?" Sarada had asked naively.

Sakura had sighed out a smile. "Your throat is what is inside your neck," she'd told her gently. "Your neck is—um," she stopped and thought about how to explain the intricacies of the spinal cord and the nervous system. In the end, she decided on, "It's a bone that holds your head up."

"But that's also on the _inside_ of my neck, right?" Sarada had asked curiously.

Sakura had been stumped.

* * *

 _August 2014_

Throughout her career, Sakura had witnessed many a strange medical epidemics; a pole shoved through two people, a pencil decimating someone's eye, tumors growing in strange places. So when Sarada started vomiting out everything she ate, a part of her was consumed by an innate medical curiosity.

Two days later, Sarada collapsed and all the medical curiosity in the world couldn't keep Sakura from trying all the treatments she knew of.

Three days in, Sarada started getting better and Sakura sighed in relief.

Five days in, the pain in Sarada's belly had toned down to a dull ache.

Ten days in, she completely recovered.

* * *

 _October 2014_

Early in October, when the leaves were falling in a russet rain, Sakura started noticing the paleness.

"Did you drink your milk?" she asked Sarada. In the wake of her impromptu sickness, Sarada had been steadily growing gaunter, losing her cheerful pallor along with most of her appetite. Up until then, Sakura had filed it away under the post traumatic fugue of her recent bodily regurgitation—as if her body still believed, it would chuck it all up.

So, she'd been slowly coaxing Sarada to up her diet little by little; conditioning her stomach to take just _one more bite_ every day—and keep it down.

"Bleugh." Sarada mimed a silent gag and nodded.

"Good."

* * *

 _December 2014_

"What am I going to _do,_ Ino!"

Sakura paced around the corridor in a fit of mania, and Ino knew there was nothing she could ever say to calm her down.

"Jaundice! She has _jaundice_!" Sakura waved her hands about. Her eyes were wide and frenetic and the hospital staff was careful to maneuver around her striding zone. "What if it's just the beginning of something worse!?"

Ino inhaled and mustered up the courage to fight down Sakura's raging hysteria for her. "It's going to be fine. _She's_ going to be fine."

* * *

 _January 2015_

After almost a month of cough syrups, powdered pills and anti-biotic injections, Sarada had only gotten worse. In addition to the fever, she was suffering severe abdominal pain and frequent vomiting again. Anything she ate, instantly came up. So, her team of doctors had affixed her with a liquid diet for half a month by then.

Two months in and Sakura finally caved in for a better, more expert opinion. Shizune Kato was not the most intimidating women Sakura had ever met, but she was by far, more competent. Rumor mill around the hospital blew that she was the _Hokage's_ personal medic.

Donned in a sleek, black suit and sporting a chic haircut, she looked almost like a pixie.

"I need you stop panicking," she told Sakura, not unkindly. "Let's run some tests and we'll see where to go from there."

"I've already ran all the standard tests for jaundice. Her blood work shows a clear build-up of bilirubin, but none of the meds are having any affect." She slid a pile of test results over the table, and bit her lip angrily. Discussing Sarada's case in such generic terms seemed like a betrayal—like she wasn't trying hard enough.

"Did you do a CT scan?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Nothing. There's _nothing_. I've looked at the scans for _hours_. I've run tests for cirrhosis, hepatitis and even gallstones! Her liver is _norma_ l—"

"And yet, it's not," finished Shizune. Her brows were drawn and her eyes had a faraway look about them. Suddenly, she asked, "Have you done an ultrasound?"

"Ultrasound?" Sakura sputtered incredulously. "I already did a CT. I have a file of the scans you can examine. Why would I need—"

"Sometimes," Shizune interrupted softly, "We can get a more accurate depiction of the insides from an ultrasound. I'm sure you know that."

Sakura seethed silently. "Are you saying," she started quietly, "That I wasn't thorough enough?"

"All I'm saying is, your daughter is getting worse. Maybe we should exhaust all options before going farther."

* * *

"How is this even possible?" Sakura asked for the millionth time.

"It's small, but it's there," said Shizune, gently shaking her head in amazement. "I can't believe it."

"She's almost eight years old! Hepatoblastomas originate from immature liver precursor cells!"

There was a growing dread slowly climbing up Sakura's throat—her chest was constricting with it.

"It—it must have been benign."

"Why is it suddenly malignant!?" Sakura snapped. "It doesn't make any sense. You—you're—maybe you're reading—"

"I'm not," Shizune told her kindly. "It's rare, but certainly not undocumented." She put the test files on the table and got up. "Now that we know what's wrong," she started, "let's make a plan of action. Judging by the size, it's Stage 3. We could have still resected it but it's invading the hepatic artery. Surgery would be complicated and let's be honest, if the artery ruptures she could bleed out on the table. But if…"

On and on she went. But Sakura's ears rang with those words; bleed out on the table.

 _Bleed out on the table._

 _Bleed out on the table._

 _Bleed out on the table._

She sat there, numb and unmoving.

 _Bleed out on the table._

* * *

 _Feburary 2015_

"Sakura," Mebuki prodded gently, "Come on, child. You have to eat something."

Sakura held onto Sarada's hand and buried her head in her arms. "I'm not hungry."

Mebuki sighed. "I know. But you have to eat something so you can fix her."

" _Oka-chan_ ," she mumbled in her arms, then slowly sat up and locked eyes with her mother. "How can _Kami-sama_ give her to me, make me love her _so much_ and then take her away?" She snapped her fingers. "Just like that?"

"No one is taking her away," said Mebuki, voice stern and eyes hard.

"Her lungs her slowly filling with fluid. She can barely breathe. We can't resect the tumor out. We can't—"

"Stop," Mebuki barked. In that one word, was severe admonishment and it made Sakura ashamed of herself.

"Stop," said Mebuki, "counting down ways this is not going to work. And start counting down the ways that it could."

* * *

 _March 2015_

"Mama?" Sarada croaked one day. "I don't want—to die."

There had been such naked, childlike vulnerability in and voice and Sakura hadn't know how to answer.

Over the course of the past month, there had been multiple biopsies. There were bruises on Sarada's abdomen; angry looking and purple. The Alpha-fetoprotein test, which had been too little, too late, had showed an AFP level greater than 500 ng/ml. Farther more, every afternoon for the past ten days, they'd started her on adjuvant chemotherapy.

"There's a chance," Shizune had said, "that the tumor might shrink. If the mass contracts past the hepatic artery, we might be able to resect it."

Sakura felt like her life had been rushing past her in a haze; blurry edges, scratchy eyes and hot tears when no one was watching. Every time a machine beeped arythmatically, she felt her chest cave in on itself. The world was slowly draining of color, and the only smell she now remembered breathing was the sharp antiseptic of the hospital corridors.

"Worst comes to worse," Shizune had assured her, "We've already put her name on the OTN list."

She remembered how effectual Sarada's warm weight against her body had been. She missed her laughter, the mischievous glint in her eyes, the way she talked Mama's ear off.

 _How do you let go of a part of yourself_ , she wondered bleakly.

* * *

 _April 2015_

The worse, did eventually come to pass.

"Do something!" Sakura screamed. " _Do something!_ "

Shizune sighed. Beneath a light sheen of make-up, her face seemed drawn and tired. "She's an O-negative. It's hard to find a match, even with the OTN. You know that."

Sakura's lips were curled into an involuntary snarl. She looked straight ahead at nothing.

"I'm sorry," said Shizune, lightly touching her hand. "I'm really, really sorry."

Sakura didn't appreciate the gesture. It was as kind as it was hopeless. It meant her daughter was dying.

She took a deep breath.

Her stomach churned uneasily. She'd been sitting on that thought for a while now. She was a doctor; she, better than anyone knew that the chances of OTN finding a liver for her daughter in time were less than point-two percent, at best. O-negative was five percent of the population in the world. Statistically, it was a completely impossible situation.

But she also knew that there was at least a fifty percent chance a person had the same blood group as one of their parent. Half of the HLA markers in every embryo were derived from each parent, and since no one on Sakura's side of the family was a match, there was a fifty percent chance that Sarada's father might be.

* * *

 _How many of you absolutely_ loath _me, right now? :)_  
 _Keep leaving me reviews and I'll be sure to update soon._

 _tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _Sometimes, courage is swallowing the ocean that tries to drown you. But sometimes, its drowning and drowning and going limp and still drowning and going salt but still drowning and making snow angels on the ocean floor._

* * *

There was very little in life that Uchiha Sasuke remembered as clearly as he remembered his _sakazukigoto_ —the apprehension of being too young to make the right decision, yet going for it anyway. He remembered perfectly, how he'd locked gaze with Madara, drunk small sips of sake three times from his cup and bowed. He remembered the painful sting of the needle as it carved intricate tattoos on every inch of his skin. But most of all, he remembered the complacent look on Uchiha Fugaku's face.

It had been one of the most cherished moments of his life, for rarely was Fugaku ever satisfied with his youngest son.

Sasuke wondered numbly what his father might think of him now.

"You— _what_?"

* * *

Understandably, it wasn't quite going as she'd planned. It had taken more than a requisite internet search to find him; it had been even harder to get to him. The Panopticon was a tall skyscraper smack in the middle of Konoha. Rising Four-hundred and eighty-four meters from the ground, it was a glass monstrosity that housed two-hundred luxury apartments and four brand endorsed companies that posed as fronts for illicit métier.

In the grand atrium of the Sharingan Enterprise, she'd felt small. Only the churning pit of dread in her stomach and the constant ticking of the clock had driven her to the receptionist.

Two hours and countless arguments later, she'd been introduced to a tall, sleek man with a pointy grin—he reminded her of a shark. "And who might _you_ be?" he'd asked jovially, hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks.

"Uchiha Sasuke," she'd rasped for the thousandth time that day, "I need to speak with Uchiha Sasuke!"

He'd cocked his head to the side and the silver of his hair had caught the chandelier light. "And what business do you have with him?"

Her lip had almost, but not quite wobbled. It had been humiliating; standing in front of that man, practically begging him to let her meet him. " _Please_ ," she'd whispered in the end, and maybe it had been the desperation in her voice, but he'd sighed tiredly and rolling his shoulders, ordered her to wait in the lobby.

Precisely six minutes later, she'd been led to his office.

* * *

Sasuke didn't remember her well. Only that she'd had pink hair and she'd tasted absolutely divine.

When Suigetsu had flippantly announced, "Some chick is here to see you," he might have had been tempted to throw a punch. "Maybe you should check her out. She kind of looks like a mess," he'd added gravely, and Sasuke had been morbidly curious.

Her cheekbones were slightly high, her nose small, her chin delicately rounded, hair still that curious shade of pink, but her most arresting feature were her eyes; beneath the arch of her brows, long curly lashes fringed eyes that were a startling, luminous shade of the greenest of jades.

He'd completely forgotten those eyes.

So now, sitting in the high-backed, leather chair across from him, looked like a mess, she did; and he remembered—running his hands down her spine, sucking on her folds, eating out of her pussy and—inconspicuously, he shook himself out of that night, met her shimmering green eyes and wondered what could have possibly gone so wrong, she'd seek _him_ out.

* * *

Truth be told, the only reason Sakura had even graced a passing thought Uchiha Sasuke's way had been to lament his pathetic existence. In her mind, he'd always been this hardened criminal blessed with a beautiful face.

But he was seated behind his desk, his suit coat and tie removed, his dark head bent as he observed her from behind a calculating gaze. His shirtsleeves were rolled up his pale forearms and his collar was unbuttoned. Her eyes settled on the pale column of his throat and she thought, she could almost see the tail edge of the tattoos that twisted down his chest. She looked at his dark hair and the taut angles of his jaw and cheek. He was the handsomest, most compelling man she had ever seen, she thought with a pang of something indescribable. But when she spoke, her voice was calmly detached. "You have a daughter," she told him calmly, "She's eight years old and she's dying. She needs a liver transplant. She needs _you_."

An infinite, incredulous pause.

Sakura had thought about this moment—wondered anxiously exactly _how_ she could ease him into the subject. Maybe start with small talk? Gently manipulate the conversation to that night? Beat around the bush? In the end, she'd decided that it would be best if she were blunt about it.

"You— _what_?"

Slowly, her heart began to sink. _Maybe_ , she thought, _I was_ too _blunt_. "That night," she started again, tentative, feeling the metaphorical ice beneath her feet crack, "We—I got pregnant."

* * *

It took exactly ten seconds for those words to sink in, two seconds to comprehend their meaning and three more for his mind to start functioning again. Slowly but surely, his senses started snapping back into place; his thoughts creaked along in a clotted flow that ran the gamut from disbelief to sudden bursts of panic.

In the end, it settled on disbelief.

He leaned back a little, to better orient himself and set his mouth into a frown.

"I didn't tell you—because—I had my reasons," she continued. He could see her hands trembling from underneath the glass of his executive desk. The numb shock that had just hit him like a punch to the gut had stopped spreading in his veins. In its place, was a cynical sort of incredulity. He listened to her with a ghastly interest. He knew, she could tell that he didn't believe her.

She set her jaw and he could tell instantly she'd come prepared for a fight. " _Please_! Her name is Sarada. She doesn't know who you are. This is all my fau—"

"Stop," he bit out and she did—instantly snapped her mouth shut and looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. Disbelief was waging a slow, vicious war with panic now. He jerked back in his seat and tried to gather his thoughts. His mind reeled a mile a minute and he didn't know—didn't _understand_ how to connect the archipelago of islands that his thoughts were right now.

He swallowed.

Frame by frame, his mind thought back and played out that night. She'd been drunk, but he'd only been slightly buzzed. He had a sharp mind and a sharper memory; he distinctly remembered putting on the condom.

But at the same time, he was looking at this slip of a woman; looking haggard and world weary and so, so terrified. It was hard—putting these two pieces of puzzles together and understanding that they did not fit.

And then, with a mild jolt, he realized that he didn't even know her name. What guarantee did he have that she was telling the truth. And—a _child_ —he had trouble even making sense of the word. What he did know for sure, was that Sharingan was about to close in on a deal that would spin the political circumstances in the _boryokudo's_ favor. And there had been multiple attempts, even in the past month to dismantle the deal.

And in a battle of facts over emotions—Uchiha Sasuke, always, _always_ chose facts.

His lip curled into a snarl. "Get out," he told her curtly. "Don't come back."

For a moment she just sat there; wooden and disbelieving. If she hadn't just told a completely implausible lie, his chest might've even panged with guilt.

He watched as she took a shuddery breath. "No," she said softly, and her gaze locked with his own was brimming with honest desperation. Mechanically, she reached into her pocket and fished out a picture. Upside down, she slid it to him. He didn't turn it around. Only watched as she reached into her pocket again and this time, set down a small vial of blood. "Take a paternity test," she told him.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Get out," he said again, this time quietly.

She nodded once, scraped back her chair and stood up. At the door she turned back, and said in a voice that carried in the quiet of the room, "Konoha Emergency. Medical Unit 4."

* * *

Once outside, she stood still and let her hand tremble on the knob. She'd kept her voice neutral, but inwardly, she'd felt ill. Tears stung her eyes, but she turned her face up to the small gold lights shining in the ceiling to hide them.

"That bad, huh?" She turned around, startled to see the man from before. Tears burned the back of her eyes, bubbled hot in her throat. Too proud to shed them in front of him, she swiveled on her heel and stalked out. By the time she reached the main lobby, her mind had numbed itself into a complacent sort of hysteria.

She walked to her car, congratulating herself on the maturity with which she'd handled the situation. She had been honest and direct; she'd withstood temptation and upheld her principles. She had done the right thing, and she was a stronger, better person for it.

Now that it was done and there was nothing else, her body seemed to cave in on itself with fatigue. Nearly stumbling with it, she started the car and backed out of her space. She would lie down for a little while, catch up on some sleep.

Just an hour, she told herself, driving down to the hospital. Hold her baby and just stretch out on the bed.

* * *

In the wake of her departure, he inhaled a deep breath.

In Konohagakure, aside from the _Senju_ and _Uchiha_ , the _Hyuga_ were a major power player. Armed with a diversified background and a family that had procreated like wild rabbits, they now had a personalized army at their disposal. No matter how many times either _Oyabun_ had made a friendly overture, the Hyuga had remained strangely passive—closing deals with the side that offered more; more money, more wealth, more opportunities.

Only recently, had Madara managed to make progress on a weapons deal that had been hanging like a bait for either side. With Uzumaki Naruto's defection, the _Senju_ had disintegrated into a mute state of panic, and the Uchiha had taken advantage of it.

"In the near future," _Oyabun_ Madara had rasped out with a rare magnanimous smirk, "we might just manage to dissolve them."

Sasuke knew what that would entail—vicious turf wars and bloodshed. He wasn't particularly fond of murdering innocent people in cold blood, but one did not just disobey a direct command in the _boryokudo_ —not unless one wanted to die.

So he had been understandably wary. However unlikely, he didn't want to take any chances of that girl being marshalled by _Senju_. The enmity between the two _rengo_ was deeply-rooted in blood and sacrifice—he wouldn't put it past them.

But at the same time, his heart was beating in tandem with the word daughter.

Thump. _Daughter._

Thump. Thump. Thump. _You have a daughter._

Thump. _Daughter._

Thump. Thump. _She's eight years old._

Thump. Thump. Thump. _And she's dying_.

Unbidden, his hand started reaching out for the photograph lying upside down on his desk.

Thump. _She's eight years old_.

Thump. Thump. _And she's dying._

He held the very edge of the paper with his forefinger and thumb. _Don't be stupid_ , he assured himself _. It's a lie_. Logically, he knew he was correct, but something—some inherent instinct, a niggling doubt, held him from believing in himself.

Suddenly, he realized that he was terrified. What if it _was_ the truth? What if he _did_ have a child? His mind came up blank.

Thump. Thump. _You have a daughter_.

Thump. Thump. _She's eight years old_.

Thump. Thump. Thump. _And she's dying_.

He turned the photograph. On the other side was a little girl; barely seven years old, looking at him with a giant grin and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She had a round face, a larger than average forehead, unmistakable Uchiha-black eyes and shoulder length raven hair, not unlike his own.

That didn't mean anything, he told himself. A lot of people had that exact same shade of eyes. A lot of children had black hair.

He swallowed.

 _He had a daughter_.

With a shaky hand he pressed the intercom and called for Suigetsu.

 _She was eight years old_.

"What's up?" asked Suigetsu, with his requisite sharp-toothed grin. Sasuke handed him the small vial of blood, pricked his finger and bled it into the folds of a tissue.

"Send for a paternity test," he told Suigetsu curtly, and when his eyes rounded in surprise, Sasuke slid a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at his head. "Talk, and I'll kill you."

Suigetsu didn't flinch. Neither did he talk back. He did, however, regarded him solemnly and nodded.

When the door shut behind him, Sasuke leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

 _She was dying._

* * *

He hated unanticipated events. The unanticipated should only happen to the unanticipating. It was not fair that he, who spent all his waking hours actively preparing for everything the future could lob at him, should be caught short like this.

The main branch of the _Rengo_ was based in a traditional Japanese house; Madara might have embraced modern technology in terms of cruelty, but in essence, he could never embrace it in his sensibilities. The house had been built in the middle of the nineteenth century, when the _Uchiha_ had been nothing but a fledgling clan of misfit peddlers; Madara had once ran in these halls as a little boy. Now, he resided in the main _ima_ , constantly adjusting the _fusuma_ to accommodate any and all activities.

For two years, Sasuke had lived within the _katagi_ —running _Kasai_ , working as the _Oyabun's_ twiddling lackey, until he'd completely and utterly wormed his way into his inner circle. Now he enjoyed the rank of a _Kuromaku_ —was even an honorary member of _Akatsuki_ , and lived again, in the main house. But in the light of the day, he still managed _Kigyo Shatei_ ; this time the Sharingan.

Maybe one day, he would've even inherited the _gokudo_.

He sighed, squeezed his eyes shut and leaned on his hands on the _engawa_. His arms ached with the weight of his body, and his shoulders weighed with the truth of Sarada's existence.

 _Sarada_ , he thought.

Sarada.

It was an unusual name, he thought miserably. There was a pit in his stomach, and no matter how many times his mother called him to the _Sentō_ , his legs wouldn't move. Even the thought of eating made his insides churn.

Over the course of the day, he'd experienced many sensations; dread, panic, bewilderment, indignity. But now, there was something else; something that burned at the base of throat and simmered all the way down his belly. Anger.

Behind him, the _shoji_ slid open, then closed shut. There was a quiet thump of footsteps and a little bit of rustling as Itachi sat down beside him.

He didn't say anything. Neither did Itachi. They sat in a silence that crackled with Sasuke's anxiety, watching the _koi_ flit around the pond, the stars twinkling in the sky, hearing the crickets chirp in the night, Mikoto thumping around in the kitchen.

Finally, when he felt like he could face his brother without the onset of a mental breakdown, Sasuke turned his head. "I have a daughter. She's eight years old. And she's dying." He was sure his older brother could see the rage swimming in his gaze. Disbelief, heartache, and sickness rolled like one giant ball of hateful poison in his gut, flooding into his veins.

He had a _daughter_. She was eight _fucking_ years old. And she was _dying_!

To his credit, Itachi didn't falter. Only the slight furrow in his brow indicated that he'd been taken aback. "I—see," his brother said haltingly.

Sasuke turned away, positively seething now. He could feel the small, square photograph of the child, the even smaller folded up test result, burning a hole inside his slacks. He could also feel Itachi's unwavering gaze on him.

"Is it—how is it—that you have an eight year old daughter?" Itachi ventured tentatively.

Sasuke turned the full intensity of his glare on him. His stomach now twisted with sickness and fury. "I slept with someone," he bit out waspishly. "Eight years ago I slept with someone. She got pregnant. She didn't tell me."

Itachi's mouth opened, then closed. Then his brow furrowed. "And how exactly have you found out now?"

He took a deep breath, exhaled loudly, then looked his brother in the eyes. "She came today. To the office." He swallowed. "Her—her mother."

Itachi's mouth was slowly tugging into a frown. His brow was already furrowed. "And are you _sure_? _Absolutely_ sure?" he asked. "She could be lying. Maybe she—"

Sasuke cut him short with a tired sigh. "Stop it," he said wearily. All that anger, all that desperate panic and heartache and hatred; it seemed to have seeped him of all energy. He was suddenly very, very tired.

"Sasuke—"

" _Nii-san_ ," Sasuke cut him off again, and the revert to the old well-worn suffix made Itachi start a little. With heavy limbs, he fished out the folded paper out of his pocket and handed it to Itachi.

It was an eighty-nine percent genome match.

He had a daughter. She was eight years old. And she was dying.

* * *

Itachi drove him to the hospital. He sat shotgun, silent and apprehensive, desolate and furious—exhausted beyond belief.

Konoha Emegency was a zoo of a place where most trauma patients were taken. It was owned by the city and provided, among many other things, indigent care for countless patients. It took them twenty minutes to find Medical Unit 4; it was stark and white, smelled more like antiseptic then the corridors they'd just walked. The nurse at the station greeted them with a smile.

Itachi took the lead. "Hello. Could you please tell us where we can find a patient named Sarada?"

"Oh!" the nurse perked up. "Haruno-san's daughter? She's just around the corner! ICU 2." Then she sobered up and whispered, "Haruno-san hasn't made a single round today, poor thing. Try to cheer her up, won't you?"

"We'll be sure to do that," Itachi told her kindly. They walked away and just beside the waiting, Itachi stopped. "I'll be here," he told Sasuke gently.

Numbly, Sasuke nodded. He found ICU 2 at the end of a gleaming linoleum hallway. There was a small foyer inside, not unlike the _genkan_ of his home. His arm reached out to push the door open and stopped—just hovered there, inches away from the glass. He could feel its pseudo coolness on the tips of his fingers. His breathing became hard, coming in short bursts that made the back of his throat burn with the smell of antiseptic. He wanted to see her. He didn't want to see her.

He wished he had never known.

He wished he had always known.

He wished he could turn back time and go back to the beginning.

 _Don't be a coward_ , he berated himself, swallowed thickly and pushed open the door. In the foyer, he exchanged his boots for slippers and bracing himself, pushed open another pair of swinging doors.

His heart sank.

She was lying absolutely still in the bed. Her eyes were closed tight. A nurse was bent over her, taking her vitals.

Small and frail and yellow. His daughter was small and frail and yellow.

 _Dying_.

He wasn't sure what was worse—all those hours of speculation or the actuality of seeing her lying so still, so pale, the yellow pallor of her face standing out so harshly against the whiteness of the sheets and the tubes hooking her to a line of impersonal machines.

He stumbled forward; collapsed on the uncomfortable looking chair and gingerly grasped her hand. It was cool, but he could feel the pulse beating in her wrist, echoed by the monitors next to her.

There was no privacy here. Only a wall of glass separated her from the quiet movement of nurses and technicians in the ICU. She was dressed in a bed gown, something with faded blue flowers. He suddenly found himself resenting the idea that dozens of others had worn it before.

She was so yellow.

His mind kept leaping back to that, though he tried to fix it on other, inconsequential things; the faded gowns, the beep of the monitors, the hush of the crepe soles on the tiles beyond the glass.

Where was she? He wondered as he stroked the small patch of her hand that wasn't covered in tubes. He didn't want her to get too far away. He didn't know what to say to bring her closer.

"I—I'm sorry," he said thickly, "I didn't know." He rubbed a hand absently over his chest as it tightened. He fell silent, counting the monotonous beeps of the monitors. Suddenly, his fingers tightened uncontrollably on her small hand. "Please, S-Sarada," his tongue stumbled over her name, "Don't die."

He thought—or maybe it was only his imagination—that her fingers pressed just for an instant against his hand.

* * *

He didn't know how long he sat there, limp and unmoving, just holding on to her hand and thinking, _she's mine_. _She's my_ daughter. _She's_ mine.

Again. And again and again. Until it finally started to sink in.

Sometime later, he finally mustered up the strength to get up. In the small foyer, he turned around and stretched his hand towards the ICU door, his palm resting on the cool glass. The muscles at the base of his throat worked convulsively as he stroked the part of the glass that showed her face.

There was a silent whoosh of air behind him and then a presence, that he knew without even turning was Sarada's mother. Slowly, he retracted his hand from the glass, but didn't turn around.

"You—you came," she whispered and he could hear the honest surprise cladding her voice. He turned around and there she was, backed up against the door, looking just as haggard and miserable as she had in the morning. He felt a sudden, unbridled fury grip his insides like a vice; his fingers twitched, tingling with the premonition of wrapping around her throat and squeezing the life out of her.

"You," he said darkly, inflecting all the anger and disbelief and rage of the day in his voice. " _Why_ didn't you tell me?"

He could sense that his presence here had shaken her. But she stood her ground before his glare and straightened her shoulders in a challenging manner. "Because," she said, "I _know_ who you are."

He stepped close, and she almost retreated from his suddenly fierce gaze. But in the end, she held her ground before his glare. "Oh," he mocked, the tilt of his lip cutting and razor sharp, "You do?"

* * *

Sakura gripped her floundering emotions with a tight rein of determination. Those dark eyes taunted her, and she felt angry heat rise in her cheeks. "How dare you," she whispered in a voice as cold and furious as midwinter snow. "How _dare_ you insinuate that I don't know what's best for my daughter?! I came to you now didn't I?!"

"Now?!" he shot back, just as cold and livid, " _Now_ when she's sick and _dying_?!"

"Yes!" she roared, "Now that she's sick and dying and I have _no_ other choice! If it were up to me, she'd never even know you existed!"

He recoiled slightly, eyes brimming with resentment. "You _bitch_ ," he whispered, and those words hit Sakura right in the chest; two sharp bullets piercing her lungs. "You had _no_ right!"

She had to fumble for the right response—she, who had always been so sure in her decision, was now wavering. "Don't think," she told him defiantly, "that I don't know what you've been up to. Don't think," she whispered fiercely, "that I don't know you what you are! While you were busy conquering _Oto_ , I was dropping off my child to school every morning! While you were working hard at killing people in _cold fucking blood_! I was making a living so I could raise my child in the BEST POSSIBLE WAY!" she yelled, and it felt like she'd just screamed half her soul out. She breathed hard, and looked him in the eye, "I did _not_ want my daughter to be a part of that." Tears suddenly blurred her vision and she drew a ragged breath. All the energy seemed to have seeped out of her. She leaned back against the door and her legs gave out. She slid down the frame and let tears sheet down her cheeks. She had restrained the whole day, but now, there was no reason to hold back.

* * *

He had always considered himself cold-blooded. Sangfroid was a trait highly prized by the _Uchiha-rengo_. One was permitted to lose one's life, but never one's detachment; it was one of the rules of the _rengo_. Madara had especially insisted on it. Once you lost your cool, it was all over. But now, as this woman slid down the door and shook with the force of her tears, somewhere inside him, he shook too; with the force of her fear, her confusion and her vulnerability—an empathy that shocked him with its depth and enormity.

Unbidden, his arms moved around and helped her up, gently led her out where a nurse was waiting apprehensively with a tray of medical supplies. "Is she alright?" she asked, fluttering about the woman as he led her to the chairs attached to the corridor wall. She collapsed into one and Sasuke turned the full intensity of his glower on the nurse. "Go," he ordered.

"But I heard—"

" _Go_ ," he ordered again, more forcefully and this time, she did; flitted behind the ICU doors and disappeared.

Silently, he flopped down beside the woman and looked straight ahead; gave her a moment to compose herself. Then, "What's your name?" he asked quietly.

For the longest moment, she didn't speak and he thought that maybe, she really wouldn't. But then, "Haruno Sakura," she croaked hoarsely, and finally, he looked at her—exhausted and heartbroken and world weary.

He nodded, leaned back in the chair and sighed wearily. "How did this happen?" he asked, "I wore a condom."

"You didn't," she said tiredly.

"I did," he insisted.

"You—"

"I did. I remember putting it on," he said, some of the anger rearing up again.

"You were shoving your tongue up my vagina!" she rebuked, "I wasn't exactly thinking straight!"

If he weren't so spent, he might have gaped at her, sputtered even. As it were, he could only manage a worn-out deadpan.

"Besides," she continued, "Sometimes, even condoms fail. And I wasn't exactly on birth control, either."

 _God_ , he thought, rubbing a hand down his face. _This was so fucked up_. "How did she get this way?" he asked, cocking his head in the direction of the ICU.

Haruno Sakura scoffed contemptuously. "Why does anyone who has cancer gets cancer, you mean?"

"Stop," he commanded, "being a smartass. What happened?"

She glowered at him silently for just a moment before her eyes glassed over and her frown tugged down even farther. "About a year ago, she started getting sick. At first it was just short periods of flu-like symptoms, but then her stomach started hurting. A month later she got Jaundice." She shuddered out a breath and continued. "Standard meds weren't working. We ran all the tests but no one could tell what was wrong. Until about four months ago, we discovered the mass in her abdomen." Silent tears fell down her cheeks but her voice didn't waver. She was still pretending to be strong, Sasuke realized. "It's a childhood Hepatoblastoma. It usually appears in infants but hers must have been lying benign for years now."

"What does she need?"

"A liver."

* * *

Sasuke didn't believe he would ever fully forgive her. She'd kept his daughter—his _daughter_ , he marveled—from him. God he'd never actually thought about that kind of thing; a wife, children, _family_. He knew he was expected to take a _seisai_ , sometime in the future. But to have such a responsibility thrust onto his shoulders over the course of a day—he still felt like his senses were short circuiting.

To his credit Itachi hadn't said a word until they'd gotten back in the car.

"It's bad," he told his brother. "She needs a liver, and they can't find a match."

"Is she—are you sure—"

"She's—she's mine," Sasuke confirmed, feeling a strange sort of stupefication—like this reality belonged to someone other than him. _She's mine_ , he told himself silently. _How did this happen_?

Itachi looked troubled, and if Sasuke weren't so disengaged from reality, he might have been too.

"What is wrong with her?"

Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed gingerly. "Some kind of a liver cancer." _We would need to check the histocompatibility antigens in your blood first_ , Sakura had told him bleakly. There was a less than twenty-five percent chance that he would be a match. _Maybe_ , she'd broached hesitantly, _ask your family. If you're not a match, maybe one of them would be_.

 _Don't try anything funny_ , she'd added darkly, and her eyes had burned so hot he was surprised his skin hadn't blistered.

"What are you going to do, now?" Itachi asked, maneuvering the car expertly around a u-turn and speeding towards the main house.

Sasuke sighed, didn't say anything for a while. As they entered the _Uchiha_ grounds and drove to the camaflouged garage, Sasuke scrounged up the courage to even _think_ of the situation he was going to be facing soon. "I have to tell _Oka-chan_ and _Otou-sama_."

* * *

Once, when he was a little boy, Sasuke had befouled the consecrated fire of the _Goma_ ceremony. In childlike naiveté, he had besmirched the kindling from the sacrificial fire. _Uchiha_ originated from the syncretic religion of _shugendo_ , which stemmed from the small nuances of spiritual awakening through finding balance between humanity and nature. It was believed, that in the throes of chanting the mantra of _acala_ , there was a moment of absolute enlightenment that priests equated with oneness with _Kami_.

Once a year, the entire clan gathered to perform the ritual. Being one of the most terrifying tyrants of the underworld had never managed to erase Madara's pious sensibilities—he believed in tradition, and tradition dictated that that fire of the _goma_ destroyed negative energies, detrimental thoughts and desires, and accepted the making of secular requests and blessings. No one ever paid attention to the hypocrisy of those sentiments and every year, the fire seemed to flare a little bit higher than the previous one.

So when Sasuke had messed with the kindling, Madara had been furious. He'd lashed Sasuke across the face hard enough to leave a bruise. In extension Fugaku had been even more enraged.

"You're impulsive, emotional and unreliable. You disappoint me," his father had said.

Sometimes, he still carried those words in his heart.

As he faced his father from across the _kotatsu_ now, he prepared himself for another emotional sucker punch that he would be nursing soon. The _washitsu_ was bare, save for a few tatami mats and through the _shoji_ , she could make out the shadows of the columns supporting the _roku's_ roof outside. At his side, Itachi's face was an impassive mask.

Uchiha Fugaku was a slender man with thick, dark hair peppered with whites. His straight brows were drawn into a perpetual scowl above an aquiline nose, and he had a stubborn jaw and a firm mouth.

In a complete contrast to her husband, Uchiha Mikoto was a pale, feminine slip of a woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. Unlike her husband, she loved doting on her children, and was usually the one who stepped in when a situation was getting out of hand. How such a kind woman had ended up as a _gokutsuma_ was beyond him.

"What is it, Sasuke-kun?" she asked now, brow furrowed into a worried frown.

Sasuke didn't know the proper etiquette of telling an adult that he was the father of an illegitimate child. He wondered if there even were any.

In the end, Itachi took pity on him. " _Oka-san_. _Otou-sama_ —"

"I have an illegitimate child," Sasuke interjected, looking right through his parents and craving a shot of _sake_. There was a headache kicking behind his eyes, now. "She's eight. And she's dying." He closed his eyes, feeling tempted to just keel over the _kotatsu_ and sleep the rest of his life away. Instead, he waited, not even with a bated breath for the thunderstorms to strike.

"What?" came his father's voice, very cool and very quiet.

He opened his eyes, looked straight at Fugaku. From the periphery of his vision, he could see the hand his mother had slapped over her mouth, feel her wide-eyed gaze on him. "I—today—I just found out about her, today."

No one said a word.

"She's sick. She has cancer," he continued. "Her mother is a doctor. She says she needs a liver transplant. They can't find a match."

Fugaku's eyes were glittering with a dangerous light and his lips were pursed into a straight line.

Sasuke swallowed, heaved himself upright and laid his head on the tatami mat in a subjugate bow. He heard his mother gasp. "I want to save her," he said, "but I—might not be enough. Help her," he pleaded, feeling his heart tremble, "Help me save my daughter."

He remained like that, prostrate and abject, peeling off all pretense of dignity, honor and self-respect.

Without a word, he heard his father get up and pad away.

He remained abject; paralyzed with a desperation he couldn't understand until he felt soft, warm hands gently pulling him up, Mikoto's hand clasping Sasuke's in a strangehold of eager terror. At her side, Itachi looked grim, but determined.

* * *

Sasuke had always understood it as a well-established fact that the entirety of his existence was a profound disappointment in his father's eyes—always had been, and always would be. If anything, last night had only solidified his belief. So when Fugaku met him at the gate of the main residence early in the morning with Mikoto and Itachi, he couldn't quite hide his disbelief.

So sagacious was his astonishment, he couldn't even speak for a whole minute. How did one circle back from a lifetime of inadequacies and disillusionment in a single night, he wondered.

Fugaku, immoveable and cold, completely disregarded his incredulity with a single flick of his head. Itachi parked the car before them and Fugaku opened a door for Mikoto, who slipped into the back obligingly. He, then opened the passenger door and without a word, slid inside.

Disoriented beyond belief, Sasuke slipped in after his mother.

* * *

 _Keep leaving me reviews and I'll be sure to update soon! :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _Magic happens when you don't give up, even when you want to. The universe always falls in love with a stubborn heart._

* * *

Three other people showed up with him. She recognized two—the woman, she could only assume was his mother. Ino, who had been staunchly opposing her decision since the moment she'd told her, rose up in a flurry of angry resentment. "How could you!" she cried, pointing an accusing finger at her, and at the same time, glaring at the small group of people approaching them, furiously. When they were half a dozen meters away, she shook her golden head in disappointed vehemence and stormed off. Watching her stalk down the other end of the corridor was like a blow to the gut. _You don't understand_ , she wanted to yell after her, _My child is dying! I don't have a choice_. Except, she'd _had_ a choice, and maybe she'd made the wrong one, because Ino, who'd been her rock, her champion, the person who told her the truth but never criticized, never judged, was now furious. Ino, who'd talked her off the ledge when times were tough, who'd celebrated her success when others were envious; Ino, who could joke with her as easily as she'd share intimate confidences, was invalidating her decision. Ino, who'd always urged her to keep going, keep pushing, kept reminding that life was full of possibilities, was now dissuading.

Sakura dropped down into the waiting chair and stared into the florescent bulb, until a shadow blocked her. Uchiha Sasuke was standing before her. It took her a moment to summon enough energy and courage to look him in the eye. Behind him, his family stood like rigid statues, faces just as blank and impassive as their attire.

She let out a soft breath of tiredness and heaved herself up, then bowed respectfully. "I'm Haruno Sakura. I wish we could've met under different circumstances," she greeted, not meaning a word.

"We wouldn't be meeting at all, if you'd had your way," said Uchiha Sasuke, tart and resentful, and when she straightened up to look at him, his eyes were anything but friendly; the color of bitter storms. The anger was there, she realized, full blown and lethal.

"Sasuke," said Uchiha Itachi, a gentle reprimand in his voice. To her, he didn't spare a glance. "Lead the way. I want to meet her."

Sakura swallowed her retort, holding Uchiha Sasuke's gaze until he had to turn away, and watched his back until he disappeared with his brother behind the ICU doors. Something panged in her chest; a feeling; that it wasn't going to end well. _Sarada_ , she pleaded, _I'm sorry_.

"Young lady," said the woman beside Uchiha Fugaku—her voice was kind, but her face was hard. Her hair, so like Sarada's, was piled up at the base of her neck in a thick, intricate bun, and with a posture ram-rod straight, she looked down her nose at Sakura's slightly hunched figure. She had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that morning after catching a quick shower; her hair had turned a deep shade of bubblegum pink with dampness, her fair skin several shades paler with exhaustion. At the reminder, she cringed. 'Drowned rat' would've been too kind a description. And standing before this tall elegant woman, she felt strangely inadequate; like she had every right to be looked down upon. Suddenly, she missed Ino, whose bright, sturdy friendship was an assurance, or even Mebuki, whose firm, no nonsense sensibilities would have been quite on par with this woman.

Instead, she swallowed hard and tried to stand a little bit taller. "Yes?"

"I would very much like to know how my granddaughter has been raised so far," she said with an air of supremacy that was as congenital for her as breathing air, and Sakura was a little stung by the tone of superiority with which she'd delivered the sentence. "But I would settle now, with knowing what we are supposed to do."

Uchiha Fugaku was staring at her with such ferocious intensity, she was finding it difficult to breath. This was the man who'd once, singlehandedly led an army of 500 hardened criminals in a war against another _boryokuo_ and won. Now, after almost four decade, his face was tanned and weathered, with tiny lines feathering out from the corner of his eyes, attesting to a life spent working hard into nurturing an empire as savage and ruthless as the _Uchiha._

Abruptly, the first glimmers of fear were born in her heart. She suddenly found herself terrified of him. Nervously, she clenched and unclenched her hands. "We'll have to draw a blood compatibility chart, first," she explained, eyes slowly pulling down, so it was like she was talking to the floor, "If any of the—donor's, are compatible, we'll start tissue typing and crossmatching and—well, there are quite a few other tests."

The woman hummed. Uchiha Fugaku turned his face away.

"Let's—Shall we start?"

* * *

Even though it was still early in the morning, the hospital kicked things up into high gear for the daughter of Dr. Haruno Sakura. There were initial checkups; CAT scans, MRIs, X-rays, blood work, reflex tests and a sleepy general surgeon with a truly spectacular bed head, paged from home.

In some ways, it was almost worse than the last couple of months of being stagnant, Sakura thought. Everyone asking how she was doing, rolling an unconscious Sarada on her bed down long sterile corridors, telling Sakura to not be afraid. She wished she could call Kizashi, whose heart had enlarged in his chest from grief and too much worry, resting at home. All that intense attention and caring focused on her daughter, and in extension, her…it was almost like torture.

One by one, each Uchiha went to get their blood work done. First, Sasuke, then his brother, his mother and in the end, Uchiha Fugaku. She made herself at home in the path lab, fixing herself on a stool, carefully examining each drop of blood. Every time the antigens turned into a positive, her heart sank a little bit lower in her chest.

Uchiha Sasuke was an AB positive. Her stomach dropped.

So was Uchiha Itachi.

His mother was an A positive.

There was a pit the size of a black hole at the bottom of her stomach, as she adjusted the last slide under the microscope. Four of them had showed up; and somewhere in her heart, she had _known_ , like a fact that could not be denied that this was _it_ ; her daughter had been saved. She'd done the right thing. But now, with three divergent samples, she felt that hope fizzling out. Fear she'd battled back opened wide and devoured her. Fate had tempted her; here's what you want, but you can't have it. So now, her hand trembled as she adjusted the lens and slowly lowered her head. It was unlikely, she knew.

Uchiha Fugaku was not going to be a match. She adjusted the fine-focus knob on the microscope.

There were no A or B antigens.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She adjusted the arm and tuned the fine-focus knob again.

There were Rh-negative antigens floating around the sample.

Her chest tightened, as she pulled herself up, then supported her weight on the counter with a trembling hand.

Uchiha Fugaku was a match.

* * *

He wasn't a match.

Itachi wasn't a match.

Even his mother wasn't a match.

His _father_ was. His father, he thought in stunned disbelief, whose firm disapproval of any and everything he had ever done in his life had been such a constant. His father; who had killed countless people in cold blood. His father; who had been regarding him with a perpetual frown since the moment he was born. His father, who had yet to say a single word, was going to save his daughter.

Silently, they all followed, as Haruno Sakura led him down the hall.

She stayed with Fugaku through all the tests and scans. She followed him where she could, and waited outside doors like the most persistent of guard dogs until the nurses or technicians bought him back within her sight. Had it not been kind of sad, it might even have been amusing.

As his mother put a soft hand on his arm, he thought that it might have been kind of reassuring for her, following his father around. It was like she was afraid he was going to disappear. "It doesn't look like she's got the maternal instincts of a rabid alley-cat," his mother joked gently.

Sasuke agreed. But as he watched her perform an arteriogram, examine the results, poke and prod around, his chest still burned with unimaginable resentment. The impulse to gut her raw wasn't as strong, but it was still there. He closed his eyes for a moment and then looked away.

It was almost midnight when all the final assessments were done. She saw them out to the hospital lobby. "You have a psych evaluation at nine o'clock, tomorrow," she told his father, addressing the white tiles at the bottom of his shoes. From the corner of his eye, he could see Itachi trying to hide his amusement. "At eleven, we'll do the pre admission testing, then you can talk to the anesthesiologist to ask any questions you have, and—and you can—we'll wake Sarada up tomorrow, so you can—"

Suddenly, she looked up, straight into his father's eyes and before Sasuke could even blink, she was on the floor, at Fugaku's feet, head bowed. "Thank you—thank you," she managed once, twice, in a broken voice; before clutching at Fugaku's legs. His mother started, and he and Itachi simultaneously took a step forward before halting. Her eyes, he noticed, were so large that they seemed to consume the rest of her face. Her breath was coming out in gasps, he now realized. She was sobbing. Tearlessly, but still sobbing. He'd never seen anyone look so terrified.

"It's fine," his father said, looking just as unsetlled as the rest of them. "It's okay," he told her again, almost gently.

"Thank you," she sobbed, and for a minute, it was like she was someone else. The strong, contemptuous woman he was starting to associate with Haruno Sakura disappeared, replaced by this stranger with dewy eyes and trembling lips. He watched, rooted to his spot as his father tried to gently extricate her from himself. Itachi and his mother stepped forward to help just as a golden blur stormed in out of nowhere.

" _Haruno Sakura_!" a woman yelled, forcefully prying her away from the floor. " _How dare you_!" she yelled, reaching out to wrap an arm around her neck and dragging her towards herself. "Have you completely _lost_ your mind!?"

Haruno Sakura reached up to cling to her jacket, burying her face in the woman's neck, suddenly as soft and vulnerable as a kitten. They all watched in stupefied silence as the woman glared at them defiantly. "We'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye," she snapped waspishly and started hobbling past the small audience that had gathered over the course of the scene.

* * *

"She must have been terrified," Mikoto murmured to herself, once in the car.

No one said a word.

"What about the _Oyabun_?" Itachi asked tentatively.

"What _about_ the _Oyabun_?" Fugaku shot back sternly. Sasuke could tell he'd been shaken by that woman—they all had been. Each time he blinked, his mind conjured up an image of her; clinging and pathetic at Fugaku's feet. Just like the last time he'd seen her break down, the rage simmering in his belly cooled, if just a little.

"Are we—" Itachi started, stopped and let out an exasperated sigh. "He would be angry."

Sasuke looked out the window, felt the weight of the situation bear on his shoulders. The air in the car was heavy with accusations, but no one said a word. He was grateful when his mother patted his hand.

"I will talk with him," said Fugaku, after a small pause.

" _Anata_ …" Mikoto said worriedly, the same time Sasuke said, "I will do it." If Madara wanted to take retribution on his daughter, Sasuke wanted to be the one responsible for stopping him.

"I said, I will talk with him," said Fugaku, and this time, there was a quiet sort of force in his voice that Sasuke had never heard before.

* * *

Uchiha Madara was a formidable man—full of bitter resentment to the core, but formidable nonetheless. At the ripe age of eighty, he now ruled the _Uchiha-rengo_ from the _ima_ of his home in the foothills of Konoha. Notorious for his cruel, violent ways, Madara was not known for his empathy. So Sasuke was surprised when he didn't unleash the comeuppance of gods on him and the rest of his family.

"He—what?"

"He congratulates you on your fatherhood."

Sasuke could imagine how Madara might have delivered those words; with a scratchy voice and a sour smile that could put lemons to shame; there must have been a veiled threat or two, in the annotations of his voice. But the way Fugaku conveyed the message, one might have thought Uchiha Madara a congenial old grandfather. Except, a congenial old grandfather Uchiha Madara was not.

"That's it?" he asked incredulously.

"That is it, Sasuke," said Fugaku sternly. _Let it go_ , was the message in the undertone of those words.

Sasuke bowed his head obediently. "Yes, Uchiha- _sama_."

Sasuke delivered Fugaku to Haruno Sakura at precisely nine on the dot at the Department of Psychiatry. Her face was drawn and she wouldn't meet anyone's eye. Sasuke refused to feel pity for her. After he'd watched them disappear around the corner, he led his mother and Itachi to Sarada.

He could tell how discombobulated Itachi had been the day before. They'd sat in silence, listening to the various monitors beep, avoiding each other's eye. After a long, disconcerting pause, Itachi had said softly, "She's perfect."

Small and yellow and frail, Sasuke remembered thinking. He had silently agreed.

Today, his mother said the same thing with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Sasuke-kun," she whispered. "She's perfect."

* * *

The evaluation, that Sakura had thought would be wrapped up in an hour or two, lasted well into the wee hours of the night. Aoba Yamashiro was relentless, and not for the first time in her life, Sakura had had the urge to book it the hell out of there. But she was nothing, if not dogged in her perseverance.

"Let's start with something simple," he'd regarded Uchiha Fugaku solemnly, who'd sat rigidly in his chair. "Would you state your standard background information; education level, living situation, cultural background and religious beliefs."

Sakura had felt her nerves like mice skittering down her spine as Uchiha Fugaku had regarded Yamashiro in silent contemplation. If he failed this evaluation, there was nothing in this world that would be able to save Sarada.

"My name is Uchiha Fugaku. I come from a well-respected, capable line of—enterprises." Sakura had stared hard at Yamashiro, telepathically urging him on, to not focus on that tiny blip on the radar. "I've had an adequate education in entrepreneurship, own my house. We believe in the way of _Shugendo_ ; Kami- _sama_ is one with nature."

"Please elaborate on your living situation."

"I live," said Fugaku severely, "with my wife and two sons."

"And that is it?"

"Of course."

Aoba had looked at Fugaku long and hard, and even Sakura had felt like he'd failed at something.

"Let's move on to significant relationships and family psychological history."

What kind of schizophrenia did you diagnose a person with, Sakura wondered, when they were as capable a killer as they were an austere businessman as Uchiha Fugaku?

On and on it went; questions upon questions, layered with more questions, and then, Sakura suspected, just to annoy him more, cross questioning. All the while she stayed quiet. She'd only been allowed into the room via special request by the MD himself, and only on the agreement that she would not interfere.

"Legal offence history?"

Uchiha Fugaku had graced them with a anfractuous little smile at that; mocking, sharp and full of contempt. "None."

And since there had never been an official police record, Yamashiro Aoba had been forced to move on.

"We have to ensure that the prospective donor's cognitive status and capacity to comprehend information are not compromised and so, do not interfere with judgment."

"They do not."

"We will see."

Three hours in and Sakura was terrified Yamashiro might withhold the operation.

"Let's move on to psychiatric disorders. I'll need you to fill out a self-report inventory," said Aoba, fishing out a form from amidst his file and handing it over to Fugaku. "I'll be assessing you on current or prior psychiatric disorder, including but not limited to mood, anxiety, substance abuse and personality disorders, current or prior therapeutic interventions, physical, psychological or sexual abuse, current stressors—relationship, home, work—recent losses, and chronic pain management."

Sakura bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. This was going to take a _long_ while.

* * *

"I wonder what she's like," said Mikoto, holding Sarada's small hand between two of her own, expertly maneuvering the oxygen monitor attached to her finger out of the way. "If she's quiet and stubborn, happy or outgoing. What do you think, Sasuke-kun."

Sasuke didn't reply. He'd been staring at this dying little girl for hours now, and the slow burn of rage in his belly had developed an odd cycle of reduction and expansion. Now, he just felt worn and spent just looking at her.

"I think she would smile a lot," said Itachi, smiling softly himself. Behind that crust of ferity, his brother had a soft heart.

"I think so, too!" Mikoto beamed.

" _Oka-san_ ," said Sasuke disconsolately. "How can you be so happy? She's _dying_."

"She's _not_ dying!" Mikoto reprimanded in an odd juxtaposition of ferocious gentleness. "She's going to be perfectly fine."

Even though he now acknowledged this limp, unmoving, fragile little figure as his daughter, his mind sill refused to allow his heart to hope. What if she flat-lined right now, and no one was able to revive her?

He swallowed; looked away.

* * *

"We need to review the nature and degree of closeness to the recipient," said Yamashiro. "Do you have any relationship with the recipient at all?"

Fugaku inclined his head slightly, so that his gaze was subtly piercing her to the chair. "She is my granddaughter, yes."

"How would you describe your relationship with recipient?"

"There is no relationship at all," said Fugaku, addressing her instead of Aoba. "I've only recently come to know about her existence."

There was something inherently dangerous about the set of his mouth as he spoke those words and Sakura felt completely out of her depth.

"I see," said Aoba, scribbling something down in his notes. "Would the transplant impose expectations or perceived obligations on the part of either the donor or the recipient?"

There it was again, Sakura thought, unconsciously backing into her seat; that crooked little smile that just didn't go with his face.

"Of course," he said, almost suavely, and even Aoba looked a little taken aback. Sakura felt her heart palpitating in her chest like rapid fire. _Expectations_ , she thought bleakly, _and obligations?_

"I would _expect_ that my granddaughter receive the best medical care this institution has to offer," he said, tilting his head again to address Sakura, "before, and after the surgery."

Bit by bit, her throat was clogging with fear, again.

* * *

The woman with the golden hair came sometime after three in the afternoon, halted in her steps when she saw the small crowd around the bed, and shuffled awkwardly for about two seconds before saying in a contentious voice, "No more than two visitors in the ICU at a time."

"Are you a doctor, dear?" his mother asked gently.

"I almost am."

"Well," said Itachi in an amused tenor, "Almost-doctor, the staff has already made an exception for us. Why don't you, either."

She was bristling, Sasuke could see, sputtering about her rage to find words adequate enough put his brother in place. When she didn't find any, she stomped her foot and glared at their small party menacingly. "Listen," she snapped, "you lay one dirty little finger on either Sakura _or_ Sarada, and I will personally make cheese fondue out of your grated skins and feed your remains to rabid dogs!"

A beat of silence.

"That's not very nice," his mother admonished darkly.

" _I'm_ not very nice," replied the woman.

"I'm sure you already know this," said Sasuke menacingly, feeling his insides burn with loathing, "but neither are we."

"Is that a threat?"

"It is a warning."

* * *

"What made you volunteer for this donation?"

There was a slow tic forming in Uchiha Fugaku's jaw. Sakura didn't think Aoba had noticed, but she'd been staring intently at his profile for quite some while now; he was aggravated, but trying not to show it.

"She is my granddaughter. She is dying. I want to save her."

"But you've only just found out about her," said Aoba, steepling his fingers together to rest his chin on. "This donation needs to be consistent with past behaviors, apparent values, beliefs, moral obligations—lifestyle, if you may—and we need to ensure that it would be free of coercion, inducements, ambivalence or ulterior motives."

For just a beat, Uchiha Fugaku didn't say a word. His posture, since early in the morning, had not faltered. He was a patient man, Sakura was coming to realize; patient in his cruelty, and patient in his misgivings.

"None," said Uchiha Fugaku in a straight laced voice, "of that, I assure you."

"Ah," said Aoba, leaning back in his chair and taking off his glasses to clean them from the edge of his medical coat, "But Uchiha- _sama_ isn't exactly renowned for his merciful ways."

Yamashiro was getting bold, and Sakura wondered if he would pay later. They said, man makes plans and God laughs. God must have been having one hell of a laugh at her expense, she thought weakly, and as Uchiha Fugaku smiled that odd little smile once more, she felt the first twinges of a headache kicking behind her eyes.

"I'm not," Uchiha Fugaku assured Yamashiro almost pleasantly.

And Sakura found that her legs weren't much steadier then her stomach.

* * *

There was a man sitting beside the woman now; dark haired and beetle-eyed, smile dripping cheerful antagonism. Sasuke wanted to pull his teeth out, one by one.

"Inojin?" asked the woman, protectively cupping one of Sarada's hands in her own and completely ignoring hospital protocol for no more than two visitors per ICU. Anyone else might have been sheepish about their own hypocrisy.

"With his grandparents," replied the man.

"Good."

On the other side of the bed, his mother huffed scornfully. Itachi had long since left the room.

* * *

"I want you to be aware of any potential short and long term risks for surgical complications and health outcomes for this donation. Some possible long term risks associated with donating a lobe may include wound infections; hernia, abdominal bleeding; bile leakage and intestinal problems including blockage or tears," Aoba read off a sheet of paper. "It can even lead to organ impairment or failure. Worst case scenario, you might need to apply for a transplant, or you might even die. Do you understand the risks?"

"Yes."

"I will ask again. Do you understand the risk of mortal peril, Uchiha- _sama_?"

"Yes."

"And are you still willing to move forward with this donation?"

"Yes."

"And you agree to undergo future donor follow-up?"

"Yes."

* * *

It was nine o'clock on the dot. Exactly twelve hours after, and his father had yet to return. Mikoto was dozing at the edge of Sarada's bed. The banshee-like woman had disappeared with her husband quite a while ago. His stomach was gnawing with worry and anger. It was becoming hard, looking at the yellow pallor of Sarada's skin, the bones jutting out of her body. It made him feel helpless and ineffectual. _Idiot_ , he thought, _Haruno Sakura was an idiot_. He would never have let anything happen to her. Brimming with a sudden spike of uncontrollable rage, he was just about to get up and storm the hospital in a rampage when Itachi returned. There was a single white peony in his right hand. Seeing the dainty looking stem seemed to crack something in his chest. He felt absolutely drained, feeling the rancor settling in his stomach once more. For two days now, he'd been fluctuating between irrepressible rage and fervid exhaustion. Right then, he felt absolutely whacked, sinking deeper into the plastic of the chair, letting it pinch his bones painfully to take his mind off of the world.

Itachi settled by Sarada's side, and lightly put the flower on the side table, beside a jug of water and a plethora of medicines he could never even imagine to decipher.

"How is she?"

"The same."

" _Chichi_?"

"I don't know."

"He's still in there?"

"Aa."

* * *

"How would you describe your relationship with your significant other?"

"Understanding."

"And your children?"

"Genial."

"Extended family?"

"Affable enough."

"Would you describe your social circle to be supportive enough?"

"We make do."

Yamashiro sighed tiredly. "Uchiha- _sama_ ," he said, "You realize that I'm trying to evaluate your familial, social and employer support networks on an ongoing basis as well as after your recovery from surgery?"

"It is adequate enough."

"Define 'adequate enough.'"

She silently willed him to push through. It was the very last legs of the evaluation. Night had long since fallen outside, and she was absolutely bone-weary. She wanted to go and sit by Sarada's side, hold her close for a while. She could only imagine how exhausted Uchiha Fugaku might have been.

"I mean," he said with a dangerous edge to his voice, "that I have a caring wife and two supportive children. I will be fine."

Aoba scribbled into his files again. "Lastly, I'd like to determine if you are financially stable and free of monetary hardship, have resources to cover financial obligations for expected and unexpected donation-related expenses; and are able to withstand time away from work for an extended recovery time?"

"I can manage."

And since Uchiha had been, on numerous occasions tried to be charged with money-laundering and embezzlement schemes, it was no secret how vast their fortune was. To Sakura's relief, Aoba let go.

"And you have disability and health insurance?"

"Of course."

"Then submit the paperwork by tomorrow and I'll notify Dr. Haruno of your results soon."

* * *

Afterwards, Sakura led him to the cafeteria, made sure he was seated and bought a tray of late dinner from the counter. Then she scraped out every ounce of dignity she had, and reached for a chair. Uchiha Fugaku did not show an ounce of gratitude. In fact, he pushed the tray aside, so that there was a bare flat of the plastic table right under his forearms.

"Do not," he said, "for a single second think that there would be no consequences for your actions."

As far as threats went, that one was beautiful, almost elegant, in its virulent proclivity. Like a snake slowly uncoiling itself in her belly, an anger began to simmer in a pool of fear. She trembled, trying to control the rampage of emotions swelling up inside her, trying hard to remain professional.

"Uchiha-sama," she started, almost agreeably, "I think you are under the false assumption that I have done anything wrong."

"You have denied a child the opportunity to know her father."

Her temper was not the type that flashed and boiled, then cooled. It was a simmering thing that bubbled and blew and spilled over. Her hands fisted at her sides as both rage and impotence coursed through her. "I have denied my child _nothing_ except an incredibly awkward conversation about her father having a rap-sheet longer than my arm and the commissioner ordering a personal team to keep tabs on her grandfather!"

There was a smile skirting around Uchiha Fugaku's mouth and it made her bristle. A sudden fury had her almost stuttering out her next words; they poured out of her in a hot stream, that made the flash of pain in her eyes all the more poignant.

"Listen to me, Uchiha- _sama_ ," she said, "Getting someone pregnant, does not make you a dad. While he was busy conquering the world, I was giving birth to my daughter. I changed her diapers, stayed up nights putting her to sleep, washed her clothes and dishes, made sure there was food on the table, sat through dance recitals and school plays, helped her with homework, listened to her when she was sad, taught her to be honest, protected her, encouraged her, taught her how to forgive and respect, taught her how to give and share. I've made sacrifices for her. I've loved her more than I've ever loved myself. So don't you _dare_ say that I've ever denied her anything!"

"And with whose permission," said Uchiha Fugaku calmly, "did you take away _our_ right to love her more than anything else?"

She breathed hard, seething and repugnant. "Would you?" she asked, "Would you have loved her without any expectations?"

To that, he had no answer. She shuddered out a breath, scraped back her chair, gave him a final cursory, disgusted glance, and bowed respectfully. "I thank you for saving her anyway."

He didn't respond, and she sent him one, long fulminating look and stomped away.

* * *

 _tbc_

 _Keep leaving me reviews and I'll be sure to update soon!_


	6. Chapter 6

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _From nothing, to nothing; how quickly we return._

* * *

Her courage gave out right as she ran into Mebuki. Her mother had a strong heart, and even stronger shoulders, and something about her steadfast proclivity made her want to crawl out of the pile of crap surrounding her and plop into her mother's embrace. _Sarada must feel the same_ , she thought somberly. Mebuki was turning around the Surgical Unit lobby, a tall homemade _bento_ in her arms, walking steadily. Sakura, who had stalked off in a fit of ineffable rage, barely caught herself from steamrolling right through her. " _Oka_ - _chan_ ," she said in a wobbly voice when she'd gained back her senses. Locking her eyes with her sturdy brown one's had suddenly made the righteous anger whoosh right out of her. " _Oka-chan_ ," she said again, voice strained, and nose twitching with the urge to cry.

"Sakura," said Mebuki, brow furrowed into a worried frown, "What's the matter?"

She managed a wan smile; then pale and distant, she slid into her mother's embrace. "We found a donor."

* * *

Once upon a time, Sakura had thought that under _no_ circumstances—not even if she was meeting the devil himself and he was threatening her to jump off a plane with no parachute into a volcano of molten lava and cannibalistic monsters would she ever, _ever_ willingly submit to telling Uchiha Sasuke that he was the father of her child.

Yesterday, she'd literally fallen at his father's feet in gratitude.

"That—is that—but…" Mebuki clutched the _bento_ to her chest in obfuscation. " _Uchiha_?" she finally managed.

Sakura collapsed into the waiting chair and watched her mother wade through her discombobulation. From where Mebuki stood, if she inclined her head just right, she could make out the dark figures that had made themselves at home in the small Intensive Care Unit.

"So…all this time, we were—we were raising and—and…"

Overwhelmed, Mebuki slowly sank down beside Sakura in a daze. After an inordinate amount of time, she asked, "Which one?"

"Sasuke. Uchiha Sasuke."

* * *

The final blood test was administered the next day. Sakura, herself made the prognosis; there weren't any antibodies that would attack the donated organ. All there was to do was wait for Shizune to arrive. They sat in a morose group outside Medical Unit 4 all day, alternating between which side would get to spend time with Sarada. Like warrior priestesses, Ino and Mebuki flanked Sakura's sides, and once in a while, even Sai would appear to offer moral support. There were frequent calls from Kizashi throughout the day.

No one made eye contact with each other.

* * *

"It's usually scheduled four to six weeks in advance, but since we—don't have that much time, it will be scheduled in three days," she told his family woodenly. "Since I'm her mother, I won't be allowed to operate. But Shizune's team is the best. I—I trust her." She nodded once, as if assuring herself. Yamanaka Ino glowered in the back.

Fugaku sat impassive, arms akimbo—but there was an inscrutable glimmer in his eyes, as if he were planning something that the rest of them wouldn't like.

Mikoto sat at his father's side, a hand on his arm, trying to radiate empathy at this strange woman who had suddenly blasted their lives upside down, inside out, flipped it sideways and at certain unmentionable times, lit a fire under it. He knew she was holding in a barrage of emotions, just like himself, but his mother didn't bother to yell at her, like he had—but the look of profound disappointment in her eyes could have sent the most hardened criminal to their knees.

It had no effect on Haruno Sakura.

As for himself, he still had trouble looking at her face—always drawn out somewhere between righteous indignation and perennial heartache. It set his limbs on fire, set his heart racing with a cold fury; that look. It made him want to grab the _chokuto_ in the trunk of his car and impale it through her ribs. What right, he thought furiously, did she have to act like that? She was a thief. She was a liar. A criminal more prodigious than any member of the _rengo_ could ever be.

It terrified Sasuke; a horrified sort of inclination—a notion that if Uchiha Fugaku hadn't stepped up, hadn't met him at the gate that day, that his daughter would be dead.

And that was another thing—his irrational devotion to a small, frail girl on the verge of death. How unassumingly he'd slipped into the role of an aggrieved father when two days ago, he hadn't even thought about getting married, much less, have children. In the cold silence of the ICU, as he held on to a small, limp, hand; this ardent, incomprehensible affection for a dying child he'd never known, petrified him.

* * *

Three days passed in a blur of medical tests, X-rays and electrocardiograms. Early, on the day before the surgery, Uchiha Fugaku had a meeting with Shizune Kato's team to discuss the procedure and its risks. Sakura had been barred from the OR as per the MD's decree; she would not be authorized to operate on anyone until Sarada's surgery, so she'd taken to crashing Shizune's mocks and lurking in the background, tailing Uchiha Fugaku behind every closed door, doing any and everything to keep moving— _just keep the fuck moving_!

There was a long, detailed discussion with a team of surgeons, hepatologists, psychologists, donor advocates, social workers and nurse coordinators.

"During early recovery, you will experience some pain and discomfort from your incision," Shizune explained to Fugaku, "which is usually well controlled with pain medications. You'll be monitored very closely for the appropriate signs of recovery and liver regeneration. Once your pain is under control; you're eating and drinking well, and up and walking without too much difficulty, you'll be discharged from the hospital."

"How much time will it take to regenerate?"

"About six to eight weeks."

"Uchiha- _sama_ , at any time during the evaluation process, up until the very moment of surgery, you are entitled to change your mind about the donation."

"I won't be."

After six hours in the conference room, Uchiha Fugaku was green-lighted for the transplant, and something in Sakura's shoulders gave—relief, she identified after a hard minute. _I'm relieved_ , she thought, a little dazed. Week after week of hopeless leads had made her a disparaged, frightful mess. Until a moment ago, she'd been scared to hope again. _But it's happening_ , she thought, suddenly floored beyond belief. Dizzily, she trudged back to Medical Unit 4, down the long linoleum corridor, to the ICU that had been home and a viable deathbed for the past two months. _If she'd died_ , Sakura thought numbly, _I would've died with her_.

Uchiha Sasuke was beside her, had been fixed to her side since early that morning, was refusing to leave her side even now, maybe just to spite her, and she found that it didn't matter. In that moment, nothing mattered except the fact that her baby was going to get better. Sarada was going to get better.

Disregarding his entire being, she carefully shifted Sarada aside, then gingerly lay down beside her, weaved her hands through various wires and tubes and wound them around her small figure. Then she buried her face and the small tuft of her hair and cried silently.

Uchiha Sasuke's cool black eyes regarded her dispassionately.

* * *

The surgical team was due for prep at five in the morning. After that, they wouldn't be able to see Sarada for a good thirteen hours. Haruno Sakura was holding her, breathing softly, and he could barely make out dried tear tracks under her eyes. He didn't budge, didn't move an inch, and as the tiredness slowly began to work its numbing magic, his rage subsided; in its place was nothing, only an aching emptiness.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked roughly. There was nothing in his voice—just inconceivable exhaustion.

She didn't open her eyes, didn't so much as show a single sign of being awake; but he knew she was. If he—who'd known her has a pale, limp figure for an entirety of a week—was apprehensive enough to not close his eyes despite the grittiness, he could only imagine what she must have been feeling.

"What would you have done?" she asked tiredly, from behind closed lids. "Left your precious _gokudo_ for her?"

"That was _not_ for you to decide," he admonished darkly, and suddenly, her eyes flew open and she gave him a dark, angry look; the one that said drop dead, motherfucker.

"I'm her mother," she retorted angrily. "I had—"

"And I'm her _father_ ," he shot back, suddenly angry again. "She's half of _me_ ," he said icily, feeling like his soul was being charged by a live wire.

She continued to stare at him stonily. Then, "Stop," she said, drawing a long, suffocated breath while trying to calm herself.

But he couldn't, feeling a current of renewed anger run the gamut of his chest. "You will pay," he told her.

She turned a withering look in his direction, before turning away and burying her head in Sarada's hair again. There had been a challenge in that gaze. _I'd like to see you try_ , it had said. And he would, he thought angrily. He would make her pay. But like her, he remained silent; scowling into the neon lights of the heart monitor.

For two more hours, they remained in the ICU, in a charged silence, until the nurses came to take Sarada away.

* * *

One hour into the surgery, Sakura paced around the hospital; checked in on her patients from before— _before_ , she thought, the universe decided to take away her reason for living.

They'd be hooking Uchiha Fugaku to the ventilator by now, she thought, carefully listening to a patient's heartbeat.

Shizune would make the incision, she thought, administering an IV of saline to another patient. It would be just under the ribs, on both sides of the belly and would extend straight up for a short distance over the breast bone.

"Give him a shot of _Sulzone_ ," she told the nurse, ripping off the prescription and attaching it to the patient chart.

Three hours in, she'd made rounds around Medical Units 1, 2 and 3. Shizune would be separating the lobe of liver from nearby organs, she thought, sprinkling a small vial of powdered _sycatrine_ onto someone's infected leg. "It'll help your wound scab over," she told the patient woodenly.

* * *

Seven hours later, his father was moved from the OR to Recovery. His vitals were stable, the incision cleanly sewed up and the anesthesia would be wearing off in about two hours, they were informed by a nurse. Mikoto sank into a nearby chair and held her head in her hands. Itachi rubbed her back in consolation.

Sasuke waited.

* * *

"Still up and around Haruno- _sensei_?" Moegi walked in, looking as through she'd slept in a packing crate. "I patched up your fa—uh—the donor, oh—" she looked at her watch, "—about two hours ago." She looked back at Sakura. "Hasn't anybody chained you to a bed?"

"No."

Moegi sat down and stretched her legs. "I pulled a double shift, but I still don't feel as bad as you look."

"Thanks."

"That was a free medical opinion. I ran into Kato-sensei up on the OR," she said, suddenly sobering up, "she was just going to start on Sarada-chan."

Sakura said nothing, could say nothing. Very slowly, she leaned forward and closed her eyes.

"She's going to be okay, you know? She's going to be fine."

Her mouth was dry. Too dry. She couldn't build up the saliva to swallow. There was a lump mutating in her throat.

She was. Her baby was going to be _fine_.

* * *

Nine hours in, his father started coming to.

Suddenly, his legs went weak with relief and gratitude. He let out a sigh of relief, rubbed his face and exhaled deeply. The weight of a debt could crush a man. It was one of those things a person knew, always followed close behind. It never really left, even if it seemed like it was gone.

He knew he was going to be waiting a long time to finally pay off this one.

* * *

" _Oka-chan_ hasn't eaten anything. Could you take her to the cafeteria?"

"You haven't eaten anything either." There was a soft reprimand in Ino's tone.

"I can't."

"I know."

"Please, keep her busy?"

"And who would keep _you_ busy?"

Sakura squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her arms. Ino brushed a hand through her hair twice, before getting up and coaxing Mebuki to go to the cafeteria. Once they were gone, Sakura pulled herself upright and waited. Less than ten minutes later, Uchiha Sasuke trudged into the Surgical Unit corridor and plopped down heavily, two chairs down from her.

She wished for the space between them to be a yawning chasm. It didn't. instead, the silence between then stretched thin. She knew she'd just inflicted a wound on his life, and right about then, it was festering in his acrimony. She refused to be held culpable for trying to protect her daughter.

But she also wasn't unyielding enough to not understand his suffering as a parent.

"They'd be separating the diseased liver from nearby organs and structures," she recited, looked straight ahead at the wall and willed her gaze to decipher the small blemishes that had been coated over too many times to be visible until you were especially careful. "The attached arteries and veins would be clamped to stop blood flow into the diseased liver."

He didn't say a word, and she kept counting the slightly less less white patches on the wall. "They'll take it out and replace it with the donor liver, then start attaching it to the clamped arteries and veins, and start the blood flow again. Then they'll attach it to the bile ducts."

She could vividly see every step of the surgery in the white of the walls now. Her fingers twitched, brimming with a portent economy that had made her an accomplished doctor. "The incision will be closed with stitches or surgical staples, and they'll place a drain on the incision site to reduce the swelling, then dress it with sterile bandages."

Such, quick, simple and precise instructions that took more than thirteen hours to accomplish. She blinked, jolting back to reality and slid down in her seat.

She didn't look at Uchiha Sasuke, who stared at her from the corner of his eyes, looking not quite grateful, but close.

* * *

When Shizune finally came outside, there was a grin on her face.

"She's fine," said Shizune, untying her personalized scrub cap. "She's responding well to the new liver."

There was a tiny stitch in her chest, a small stinging sensation that spread from the center of her chest all the way to her eyes, which eyes starting blurring just as her nose started to sting. She found herself whirling around, clutching to the closest thing she could find; which just so happened to be a warm, solid, chest. She knew it was Uchiha Sasuke, yet she didn't care; it was something—something sturdy to hold on to, to get herself together as tears streamed down her cheeks in a torrent. She was okay. Sarada was okay. Everything was okay.

* * *

There were tears in her eyes when she turned and wrapped her arms around him. Her fierce grip surprised him and against his better judgment, he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"We'll be moving her from critical to guarded condition within five to six days," the doctor told them cheerily, "The scan and the x-ray haven't indicated any obstructions post-surgery, and her pallor is returning to normal, but the incision might leave a scar."

His mind drew a complete blank. He felt like his thoughts were wading through thick, murky water. Sarada was alright. Sarada was going to be alright. He swallowed, feeling a damp spot form on his shirt. Haruno Sakura was crying soundlessly now, and he had a feeling that she might not be in a right state of mind. There might have been a giant loosening in his chest, but he was far from any point of forgiving her.

He yanked back his hand.

As if jolted awake by the sudden loss of contact, she sniffed once, then pulled herself away.

* * *

They went to the waiting together, where she threw herself at Yamanaka Ino and her parents. He turned away, walked to the general admissions block where Mikoto and Itachi sat at his father's side. A weight seemed to have lifted of his chest, but there was another one right at its heels. His hands balled into fists and his breath came sharp. Uchiha Sarada, he thought numbly. Uchiha Sarada.

Uchiha Sarada.

 _Uchiha_ Sarada.

Uchiha _Sarada_.

It suited her well; his family name.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, alleviating breath. He had a daughter. She was eight years old. And she _wasn't_ dying anymore.

The sudden despair that had been choking him for days now, was slowly receding. In its place was a quiet sort of apprehension. How would she react? A child who'd never known her father; a father who'd never known his child—how would they meet? What would he say? What if, he despaired, he was the most terrible father in the world?

 _You already are_ , he reminded himself, disgusted.

* * *

She sneaked into the Department of Surgery; cleared her way through the employee section and slid her card into the slit that would check her into the corridor connecting to the OR and affiliated recoveries. Sarada had been operated on in the sister Operating Rooms that were connected through a small sterilized vestibule. She remembered the coolness of the negative air pressure that assaulted any personnel that passed through the foyer and felt goose bumps rise on her arms.

She walked past the quiet observation deck, the waste management and removal room and CDC to the small recovery bay at the edge of the Surgical Unit corridor. Now that the looming threat of death had passed, she found herself hesitating to meet her for the first time. She was going to wake up, and she was going to meet her father—and she was going to hate her mother for the rest of her life.

She stumbled all the way to the edge of the sliding glass door, moved her hand to the edge to slide it open and stopped, with just the very tips of her fingers touching the aluminum plating at the edge. Its coolness bit at the skin of her fingers, and she found that distraction suddenly viable. She didn't want to think, didn't want to move past this threshold—this moment—because she understood, that the moment that anesthesia started wearing off, her world would never be the same again.

So she stood at the jamb, and kept her gaze lowered; felt the small presence of her daughter filling up all the dark corners of her soul—just breathed in the familiar scent of the antiseptic and willed her heart to start letting go.

* * *

"Oh," his mother gasped, tears brimming in her eyes. " _Oh_."

Itachi let out a relieved breath and sagged into his seat.

His father said nothing; just closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Sasuke knew he couldn't even begin to understand the unimaginable pain Uchiha Fugaku was in right then; just knew that he was infinitely grateful. He lowered his head in a subservient bow, and held himself like that until he felt his mother gently pulling him up again. Fugaku's eyes were still closed, but he knew that as always, his father was always astute to his surroundings—there was a small grimace of a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

He was accepting Sasuke's gratitude.

Sasuke swallowed past the clog in his throat and sat at his side.

"When can we meet her?" Mikoto asked, eyes alight with jovial tears.

"They didn't say," he told her. "Just that she'll be monitored in the intensive care for a few days."

Mikoto nodded.

There was a short beat of silence, and then Itachi stood up. "I'll let the _Oyabun_ know," he explained, sliding the door shut behind him. Sasuke started to get up too, then stopped as Mikoto softly put a hand on his arm. "Stay," she commanded.

Ostensibly, he knew he should get up, call Suigetsu; check on the company matters—Sui, with his sharp words and cutting comments was not equipped to deal with the _Hyuga_ ; but the last few days had been incredibly harrowing and this ménage of his clan had been incalculably understanding; he sat down and let Mikoto run a hand through his hair.

* * *

"What will you do now?"

Sakura didn't answer. For the first time in several months she felt like she could smile without the muscles contracting painfully in her face—so she did. She smiled at Ino and refused to let her mind sway towards the incendiary. "I don't know."

"How can you smile at a time like this?" Ino asked furiously. "How can you not know!?"

"How can you not?" Sakura asked complacently. "Sarada is going to fine."

"You realize that you've made the past eight years of your life completely redundant?"

She did realize that. Given another chance; she would make the same choice again; while the Uchiha had much to be desired in veracity, they'd just saved Sarada, and even now, when she was quite acerbic about her feelings, the expediency through which the procedure had taken place had left even her inarticulate. "What, you wanted me to wait for PLED? She would have died."

"I know!" Ino raged. "I _know_! And it makes me so fucking _angry_!"

Sakura understood that; better than anyone else, she understood that. But she also understood that there was nothing to be gained from a bout of maudlin self-pity. She'd chosen her battle the moment she'd stepped inside the grand atrium of the Panopticon, the moment Uchiha Sasuke had threatened to end her, the moment Uchiha Fugaku had refused to answer her recriminations.

She might not have chosen wisely, but she was going to fight with courage.

She didn't know what was going to happen when Sarada finally regained consciousness; but just as she'd had to learn in the past week, that there were things one didn't want to happen but had to consent, Sarada would have to learn that there were things one didn't want to know, but had to accept.

So now, as Ino's eyes flared with blameless accusations, she watched her wonderfully unkempt, gloriously golden hair and prepared to fight a war she knew she had a very small chance of winning.

* * *

When grief passes, there comes a hunger for revenge; Uchiha Sasuke knew that better than anything else. The ubiquitous lava of hate burning in the pit of his belly had been a caveat enough; but part of him had also known that she was the mother of his child, and for better or for worse, she seemed to have loved Sarada enough to have come to him in the end. It didn't sate his burning rage, but he knew that he would never be able to physically harm her if it ever came to that – killing someone so obdurately wasn't about the hatred; it was about the desire to annihilate – and no matter how much he hated Haruno Sakura, no matter how much he wanted to trample on her corpse, he would never be able to do it. He knew that. He understood that.

It made him seethe, fume and want to erupt in a spitting fury.

It made his heart ache along with his head.

And it made him understand, that sometimes, what people want and what they need are two very different things.

* * *

The constant looming presence of Uchiha Sasuke and his family bought as much comfort as a rat carrying the plague, but she restrained her asperity; vowed that even if it killed her, she was going to treat them with casual, detached friendliness – the same sort of impersonal friendliness she would show the gatekeeper or janitor at work.

It was hard; especially when the look Uchiha Mikoto was giving her could have sunk the titanic.

"She's—she'll be waking up, soon," she told them, tentatively.

"We know," allowed Uchiha Mikoto with a tone dripping with thinly veiled eminence.

Sakura ignored her seemingly inherent preponderance, and barreled on. "I—would like for some time alone with her when she wakes up," she said, making it sound like a request when the tone of her voice brokered no room for argument.

Her insolence seemed to have struck all four of them dumb, so she carried on. "Sarada—she doesn't—she, um…" she trailed off, desperately grasping for the right words. In the end, she breathed deeply and settled on, "She doesn't—quite understand the concept of a father. Give me some time; let me make her understand."

Even she knew that her petition was perfectly petty, embarrassingly minor and utterly real; and she waited on pins and needles, expecting for a volcano to erupt as they stared at her in stunned silence.

In the end, it was Uchiha Itachi who said, "How much time would you need?"

How much time would one require to rewrite someone's entire childhood, she thought dejectedly. She didn't know. "Just a little," she answered anyway.

"Define _little_."

 _I'm fine_ , she told herself, as her heart quivered with hatred and fear, revulsion and abasement. _I will hold on. I'll be strong. I'll endure._

"Give me an hour."

She considered the small tilt of Uchiha Itachi's head was a tacit permission.

* * *

Once, when Sarada was four years old, she'd taken to horse riding. Every night, after dinner, Sakura would drive her all the way to the Piazza, where a group of equestrian trainers offered a horse ride for a small amount of money. Sarada would plop down in the saddle, hold on to a fake set of reins and laugh happily, while Sakura would slowly trail their decent from the car. It had been a cold, foggy night, when Sakura's headlights had refused to work. She'd trailed the horse and it's rider nonetheless, but Sarada must have had thought she'd lost her; she'd wailed and cried and demanded loudly to get off the horse and hadn't quietened until Sakura had held her close for at least ten minutes.

She believed in her daughter—and believed in the bond that they shared. Even when she couldn't protect Sarada, she had to believe that Sarada would be able to protect herself. Those fleeting moments of happiness and regret; that's what she was counting on as Uchiha Sasuke parked himself in front of the door like a vigilant watchdog, and Sakura knew, he would refuse to budge.

She'd run herself ragged, trying to fix Sarada, pleaded with the likes of Uchiha—and it had finally paid off. She balled her fists, trying to be brave, stifling back tears. People are strongest when they've tossed aside their pride, Mebuki had assured her earlier.

She didn't have any regrets. She just felt tired; tired of fighting a battle that was mutating into a war. She just wanted to rest; to have a single moment to just breath and not feel like their world was falling apart.

She slid the door open.

* * *

"I'm not going to run away," Haruno Sakura told him quietly, a note of defeat in her voice; like she'd considered that option multiple times before deeming it useless.

 _Good_ , Sasuke thought, his insides curdling. She didn't seem like a person prone to life threatening idiocy, and he placed his trust in that instinct, but something made him get up anyway. His feet carried him all the way behind her, rooted him to the nurse station outside Sarada's door.

She wasn't awake, yet. Sasuke didn't know when she would be. All he knew was that the _boryokudo_ was brutal. Being born and raised in the _gokudo_ was like living in the mouth of a shark; constantly trying to avoid its sharp, chomping teeth and eventually getting swallowed anyway—and once in the belly of the shark, fighting the monsters already residing inside.

He knew. He understood. And a part of him was even grateful that Sarada hadn't had to get a savoir-faire of such a brutal life. But as he watched her sit at Sarada's bedside, looking a little lifeless, shoulders slumped down in utter defeat, he also knew that it would never stop his insides from coagulating every time Haruno Sakura rode the high horse in front of him.

And it never would, he thought disconsolately.

He feared Sarada would realize that he might never be any less contentious towards her mother.

He feared that she might hate him for it.

* * *

She injected a shot of high potency multivitamins into the branilla fixed to the back of Sarada's hand, slid into the uncomfortable visiting chair and tucked the blanket around her sides more firmly. She had a feeling that this perverse belligerency with the Uchiha was going to be turning into a familiar refrain. She sighed, put her head down in the crook of her elbow and stroked Sarada's cheek softly. Her vitals were strong, getting stronger, and her pallor was slowly turning back to its usual pale tone, though slightly etiolated.

She didn't know how long it took – just that there was an afterimage of the neon lines of the heart monitor behind her lids—but the vitals started fluctuationg; the breathing became erratic, the oxygen monitor wavered and it was only when Sakura whirled around to force open Sarada's eye did she notice that her lids were already fluttering. Heart in her throat, she belatedly realized that the oxygen monitor was being twitched aside by a small agitated finger and the breathing was erratic because—because Sarada was slowly waking up.

She waited, allayed and jittery, hand slowly lifting to her mouth, heart palpitating like rapid fire as Sarada's bleary eyes slowly adjusted to the light. It must have been hard for her to speak—she'd been intibated since before her surgery—but she managed a small croak and Sakura's chest burst with relief.

"I'm here, baby," she spoke softly, so as not to overwhelm her. "I'm right here."

Discernibly reassured, she drifted back to her oblivion.

* * *

The next time she woke up, Sakura was ready. The past few months had been so excrutiatingly nerve-racking that every time a monitor beeped wrong, Sakura had automatically assumed the worst. Even such short amount of conditioning had taken, she had thought belatedly. She had a paper cup half filled with cold water with a bendy straw at the ready; when Sarada's eyes had finally adjusted, she pressed a button that bent the head of the bed up, so that she was half up in bed without having to move, and pressed the tip of the straw to her lips. It took a few tries, but Sarada finally managed to swallow some water.

"How do you feel, honey?" asked Sakura, brushing away stray hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Better?"

Sarada made an incomprehensible sound and blinked once—a conformation. Sakura squeezed her eyes shut and laughed out her relief. "My baby feels better?" she asked again, just to reassure herself and this time, Sarada managed to croak out a mangled, "Ba-zaar."

Bizarre. She felt bizarre, thought Sakura, swallowing thickly, relief flowing in every vein, every artery of her body. Ino had taught her that word. Bizarre. Bizarre was a thousand, billion times better than dying.

* * *

 _tbc_

 _okay, first off—someone on anon left a review, like, "_ I don't usually leave reviews, but… _" I'd like to stop right there and just—omg_ why _? Why don't you? Why is it so hard for you type a few, tiny words of encouragement or criticism? That's messed up, dude._

 _second—hifi? Yes, calm down. Please. :D_


	7. Chapter 7

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _As above, so below. As within, so without._

* * *

It was not until the fifth time she gained consciousness that she managed to be fully awake. She had been administered both regional and general anesthesia before the surgery, so the aftereffects had been lingering; and since she was a small child with a dysfunctional body trying to recover, the drugs were not being metabolized efficiently. Sakura could tell by just peering into her eyes that Sarada must have had been dizzy and feverish. It took an entire day to finally wear off.

Uchiha Sasuke still sat in the lobby; queerly persevering.

He dozed off lightly, startling awake every time someone swooshed past him. She turned her head, and adjusted the IV tube so that Sarada's arm was positioned more comfortably.

"M—ma."

She looked up, and sure enough, Sarada was looking at her from behind fluttery lids. She smiled brilliantly. "Yes?"

It took her a few minutes to gather enough energy—and courage, Sakura would realize later—to say her next words, "Am I—dying?" she asked tentatively. It was with an enormous reprieve in her heart that Sakura blinked back a fine sheen of tears behind her lids and told her, "No, honey. You're fine."

That seemed to placate her, because she closed her eyes again, and when she opened them again after half a minute, Sakura bent the bed up and helped her drink some water, then put the plastic cup on the side table and carefully nudged Sarada to the side, arranged her various monitors and lay down beside her. Sarada's hand wiggled haltingly—a demand for some part of Mama to touch—and Sakura obligingly slid her fingers into the palm of her hand. _I'm right here_ , she thought, squeezing gently, _I'm not going anywhere_.

They both lay on the bed for a few minutes, before Sakura noticed a dark figure hovering in the doorway. Uchiha Sasuke was standing behind the door, looking apprehensive. If her throat hadn't clogged with a sudden disquiet, she might have found it amusing. Subtly, she shook her head at him. _Not now_. The effect of his furious glower was sobering.

She sighed, brow knitted into a furrow, then looked at Sarada, breathing quietly, supporting a slightly healthy pallor. She struggled for words that refused to come; how was she going to inure a lifetime of habituation?

"Sara—da," she started hesitantly, then swallowed.

Sarada barely cracked her eyes open, "Mmm?"

"Honey," said Sakura, uncertain, anxious, and trounced, "there's someone who wants to meet you."

She watched carefully as Sarada's bottom lip morphed into a questioning pout. " _Ibaa-chan_?" she managed.

I wish, Sakura thought, defeatedly. "No, sweetheart. It's someone you've wanted to meet for a long time."

This time, when Sarada looked up, her eyes looked just a bit brighter. "Ho— _kage_?"

Sakura stifled a smile, barely managing to restrain her nervousness. "No, honey. It's—your Papa."

"Pa—pa?" asked Sarada, her lips stumbling on the word and suddenly Sakura's eyes were brimming with tears. "Yes, baby. It's your Papa. He—he came just in time to save you."

Sarada blinked, each time her iris looking at a different part of the ceiling. She was thinking, Sakura thought, worrying; trying to put that one missing piece of her life in perspective. "But," she finally asked, "Isn't Papa—bad?"

Her voice was gravelly, so Sakura turned sideways and grasped the plastic cup of water again. She fed Sarada water to buy herself some time. When she put the cup aside again, she saw that Uchiha Sasuke's shadowy figure was pacing around the hallway, and unbidden, her chest constricted with a pang—of guilt. She shoved it deep inside her heart and turned back to Sarada again. "He's—he's not bad. Mama was—wrong."

"Then—he—hasn't hurt people?"

Sakura inhaled deeply and prayed for God to fix this mess. "No."

* * *

He almost didn't catch it when she motioned for him to come inside—it was a nurse who pointed out the gesture for him. His hand on the stainless steel handle, he hesitated. Now that she was safe and alive and getting well, now that it was time to meet her, something in his heart gave. His fingers trembled on the knob, the cold biting into his skin as he lowered his gaze from the figures looking at him through the glass.

 _Coward_ , he berated himself. _You fucking coward_.

Abruptly, steeling himself and without giving himself time to think, he flung the door open and stepped inside, all the while, keeping his eyes down, dying to see her, but not daring to look up. It took him quite a few moments to gather his wits, before he could finally congregate enough courage to look up and when he did, he stood there in complete and utter wonder, stared and stared for the longest time because she was—she wasn't yellow and frail and dying anymore, and his heart pounded in his chest expeditiously and his mind couldn't conjure up a single thing to say, so in the end, he bowed his head in an awkward greeting. "It's nice to meet you," he said, in a stiff voice that was indigenous to Uchiha.

When he pulled up, Haruno Sakura was giving him an indecipherable look; there was a not quite smile at the edge of her lip, while Sarada stared at him curiously.

Instinctively, he looked away, shuffled awkwardly on his feet until Haruno Sakura said, "You can sit down."

Immediately, he scraped back a chair and plopped down adroitly, then stared unblinkingly at the bars at the edge of the hospital bed, until—

"Pa—pa?"

He swallowed, and slowly, his eyes drifted up to her face. There was a smile playing at the edges of her mouth, cautious and tentative; tired, and when he looked into her eyes, it occurred to him that Sarada was transfixed. "Aa?" he said, just as hesitant and mindful as her.

She just stared at him, like he was the most fascinating thing in the world, that odd little smile playing the corners of her lips and he bored it for ten, twelve, fifteen seconds before getting momentarily flustered, but not nearly drunk enough of her presence—of her mind—of her eyes; so like his own.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Haruno Sakura trying to sneak away, be subtle about it; almost succeed, but at the very last moment Sarada grabbed her hand, and Sasuke noticed that her grip was like a vice—immoveable.

"Want me to stay?" she asked quietly and without looking away from him, Sarada nodded.

They all sat in an increasingly awkward silence, and when Sasuke managed to find the strength to look at her once again, she said the most innane thing and managed to knock him off his feet, still.

"You're—very beautiful."

He figured his face must have been a very accurate impersonation of the expression of a surprised, _oh_ , because his throat refused to work out any words. He swallowed convulsively, feeling quite steamrolled, and after an eternity, managed a brave, "So—are…you."

She beamed weakly, and it dawned on him that she must still be tired from the surgery, and all those medications running in her blood stream.

"Rest," he told her, gently.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, and then opened them again. Her gaze was heavy and half-lidded. Stubborn, he thought with a lump in his throat, his daughter was head-strong and stubborn.

"Will you—leave?" she asked with a small crack in her voice.

Alarmed by the way her voice fractured on the last word, he pressed his lips together and inhaled deeply. Then—

"Never."

* * *

It was only when Sarada was barely able to keep her eyes open that she finally managed to extract herself. There were tears burning behind her eyes and a lump, the size of Fire Country in her throat. Trying not to betray her reaction, she peeled away from the room and stopped only when she was leaning against the door of the Attendant staff room. Her breath was coming in short bursts and something heavy weighed on her chest.

The secret of Uchiha Sasuke had been floating around in their lives for an aeon now; and now that it was out, everything was a complicated mess. It was a price one paid, she thought, for keeping the doors locked for too long. It had never been easy—sometimes, heartbreakingly difficult, but what she had chosen to do about it had defined her entire existence for Sarada—was forever going to define her entire existence to Sarada.

She was going to be the mother who kept her away from a loving father.

* * *

By the time she had worked up enough nerve to return, Uchiha Mikoto and Itachi had made themselves at home in the ICU again. Mebuki was lingering outside the door and with deflated shoulders, Sakura skillfully desisted behind a nursing station and tried very hard not to fret.

"You look conflicted."

She jumped about a foot in the air, before turning around to face Ino—who, she was only now noticing, looked aptly haggard. Suddenly seeped out of energy, she leaned back against the counter and regarded Ino almost dispassionately. "I am."

Ino considered that for about a second. "Well," she said sternly, "You made a decision. It doesn't matter if you were right or wrong. Own up to it."

* * *

By the end of the first week, Sarada was moved to a private room. Her internal clock had made a habit of putting her to sleep in the mornings and keeping her awake at nights; so that was how Sasuke fashioned his itinerary—he left at the very crack of dawn, went to the estate to get a change of clothes and drove to work. All day, he took care of business; appointments, meetings, side-business, any and everything that would require his stamp of approval and by the time seven o'clock rolled around, he made sure to be sitting in the uncomfortable chair at Sarada's bedside.

Every evening when she opened her eyes, he presented her with a flower. There was a bouquet of mismatched, slightly wilted flowers in a ceramic vase on her side table that she absolutely refused to part with. Every time he helped her slide another long stemmed floret into that bouquet, he felt something loosen in his chest.

And every time she looked at him with bright, smiling, lively eyes, it never failed to rock his existence; so much so, that most of those times, he found himself shying away from looking at her.

So when she asked about the art on his body, it took him a moment to realize what she had been talking about.

"Is that a fish, Papa?" Her voice was carefully vacuous, as if she were withholding judgment.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up and Sarada was watching his tattoos intently. There was a tail end of a dragon winding all the way around his bicep, shaded and artsy, so that it looked more like an intricate pencil drawing than an emblem. Suddenly conscious, he tried to subtly roll his sleeves down, averted his eyes and refused to answer. Every single line etched into his skin, now burned—a symbol of his allegiance to the _boryokudo_. But Sarada was looking at him expectantly; waiting for an answer that he couldn't even comprehend how to answer.

"Once, I drew a cat on my hand and the sharpie wouldn't come off. Did you draw with a sharpie too?"

A beat passed in silence.

"No," he finally answered, careful to leave out any traces of brusqueness. "It's—it's a—tattoo."

"Oh."

"It—doesn't come off."

"Oh."

She leaned a little on her side, watchful and attentive and asked, "Can you show me the rest?"

It had been the farthest thing on his mind, those tattoo's; a series of labyrinthine designs that had become such an inherent part of him that he didn't even notice the blackness of the ink etched into his flesh anymore. That ink was his skin and his skin was a suit for the blood that ran within— _Uchiha_. His blood marked him an _Uchiha_ , and so did those designs—permanent and eternal. He had never, not once in his life, been ashamed of his heritage. Until today—today, he couldn't look in his daughter in the eyes because _Uchiha_ ordained for him to become a monster, and he never wanted Sarada to know that.

So he shirked within himself and said, "Maybe later."

* * *

Uchiha Mikoto was a regal woman. She sat on the love seat in Sarada's room and liked to read, a basket of fruits perpetually by her side. If Sarada woke sometime during the day, she would smile brightly and cut up an apple, peel off a banana and gently coaxed her into eating a small portion while distracting her with bedtime stories and bright smiles. She was a happy grandmother.

But to Sakura, Uchiha Mikoto was tall, imposing and hostile. Her smiles were grim and brimming with suppressed resentment; but never was she unkind. Her voice never lost that lilting edge that was slowly endearing itself to Sarada, not even when she spoke with Sakura. But there was a grievance in her expression, and accusation, an antipathy Sakura was afraid would turn into spite.

It followed her around in her gaze whenever she checked on Uchiha Fugaku, or lay beside Sarada. It followed her around when she raced around the room, collecting dirty laundry and fixing IV tubes. And it followed her around when she caught Sarada bursting into happy laughter as Uchiha Mikoto talked with her.

* * *

Sarada was a persistent child, and at some point, when he was tired and aching, she sucsessfully out-stubborned him into taking his shirt off.

"So that's—a dragon?"

"Aa."

"It looks like a lizard."

Sasuke sighed, almost mournfully.

"You should have gotten a butterfly or a flower. Maybe…a Sakura flower?"

Sasuke, who was a little oblivious to such matters, only ever got it because Sarada was making it glaringly clear; she was trying to reconcile the difference between her Mama and Papa—who always made it a point to never be together in the same room.

" _Sarada_ ," he said, voice strained and tight, like an elastic pulled to its capacity; but not harsh—never harsh.

"What?" she countered, almost innocently, settling back into the pillows and picking at the tape holding her branilla in place. Sasuke gently swatted her fingers and fixed the tape, then pulled on his shirt and started buttoning.

"Are you angry with Mama?"

"Yes."

"Don't you like her?"

He thought about lying, softening the blow, and then decided to be blunt anyways. "No."

"But—why?"

Sasuke wondered if it was possible to condemn her mother without inflicting some sort of denunciation from Sarada herself. He took his time, looking at her for half a minute before deciding that it would be better to stop any vagaries before they had even begun. "She's a liar," he said.

And she didn't disagree.

Instead, she locked eyes with him and said, "Mama used to say that when she wanted me, _Kami-sama_ gave her seed and she took care of it and it grew up into a plant and one day, when she woke up, there was a big bud on it."

Sasuke had a slight premonition of doom. He tried to curb it down.

"She said, when the flower bloomed, I came out of it."

"Oh," said Sasuke, in an expression of courteous disbelief.

But then Sarada said, "But I know where babies _really_ come from." There was a crooked little smile playing at the edges of her mouth and Sasuke had a feeling he would be grappling for words of comfort or debunkment very soon.

"You did the sex thing with Mama, didn't you?" she asked, and he felt his face go slack. Three seconds later; he found his mind catching up with her words and then; there was mortification prickling inside the bones of his cheeks and he had to neatly avert his gaze to hide the flickering of his eyes.

A pause.

His jaw worked in filtered agony as he tried to form words. "How di—"

"Sai- _jiji_ told me. When I thought _Iba-chan_ ate her baby."

"…Aa."

"He said adults do the sex thing when they find each other pretty."

A small jittery panic was slowly taking a hold of his chest; he wanted no part of this conversation. Unbidden his hands moved on their own and he found himself rubbing his face. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and even though the two topmost buttons of his shirt were undone, he found the collar extremely stifling. He folded his hands in his lap and stared intently at the handlebars around the edges of the bed, the small drops of saline dropping into the IV tube, the fat couches in the corner of the room—anywhere but her.

"So you thought Mama was pretty," Sarada told him matter-of-factly.

Sasuke didn't—couldn't—answer.

"Papa?" she asked gently, and he felt himself compelled to look at her. "Will you believe me when I tell you that Mama is also kind and loving and—" she seemed to have run out of adjectives and Sasuke refrained himself from providing some, "—perfect!" she finally exclaimed, triumphant.

She seemed proud of herself, so although he was unenthused, Sasuke found himself going through the motions; lip twitching into a forced smile.

"I see," he told her lightly.

* * *

There was a small, private roof garden on top of the gynecology department. It was strategically situated just so, so that the green of the grass seemed endlessly rolling from the windows of the maternity wards and private suites. Sakura had managed to swipe herself a key some time ago, and now that Sarada was infinitely better, every evening, she carefully arranged her in a wheelchair and rolled around the emergency ramp all the way to the garden.

"Papa gave me rose today!" Sarada told her eagerly. "It was yellow, but I think he's a scared to buy a red one!"

"I'm sure he'll give you a red one soon," said Sakura, carefully keeping her voice neutral. What an awful sort of serendipity they had befell, she thought, adjusting the afghan around Sarada more snugly; two people with nothing in common now shared a piece of their heart.

"Do you—want Papa to give you one too?" asked Sarada, and Sakura took note of the wary, tentative tone of her voice, the hesitance in her words.

Very casually, staring straight ahead at the setting sun, she said, "Not really." She could feel Sarada's eyes on her, examining the side of her face for a clue, a sign, any indication of falsehood. She made sure that not even a muscle twitched, but in her chest, her heart was slowly sinking.

"Aa," said Sarada finally, the casual annotation of that small sound, so like her father's.

The sun set, leaving behind a glowing pallet of colors—orange, pink, purple—that gradually undulated into all hues of blue, until the sky was the darkest of them all. Sakura breathed deeply, savoring the crisp coolness of the evening air.

"Mama?"

"Mmm."

"When will we go home?"

Sakura opened her eyes and stared contently at the steadily glowing pinpricks of city lights. Her right hand moved so that it was gently grasping Sarada's. "Soon."

"How soon? Give me an estimate."

Sarada's voice was crisp, usually like Sakura's own when she was barking orders at her team.

"Well," said Sakura in a lilting, jocular voice, "Since it's been a month and a half and your anti-rejection medicine is working well, we just need to start getting you moving on your own feet again. We'll see after that."

"How long?"

"A month? A month and a half?"

Sarada seemed to wilt with those words. "That's _long._ "

Sakura ruffled her hair affectionately. "If you say so."

They reverted back into silence, but Sakura could tell that it was weighing on Sarada's mind. She tried to think of something to say, but then Sarada asked, "Will Papa come home with us?"

Sakura actually felt a jolt of shock at those words. "Papa—Papa has his—own home?"

"Is he married?"

"No. but he has his family."

"But we also have _Oji-chan_ and _Oba-chan_ and we don't live with them. Why can't Papa live with _us_?"

"Sarada," said Sakura in a curt, authoritative voice. "He just can't. End of discussion."

* * *

Sasuke had long since known, and led life by his father's circumspect ways; more often than not, he found them more useful than the ambivalence of indecision.

"I think _Ojii-sama_ is like a cautious kitty," Sarada told him, carefully examining the white rose he'd presented her that evening with faint displeasure.

"Indeed," said Itachi, agreeing wholeheartedly, reaching out for the vase full of flowers. "Do you not like it?"

Sarada shrugged noncommittally and something in Sasuke's chest shriveled slightly.

Itachi's eyes crinkled in a smile. "And what of it do you not like?"

Hesitation, Sasuke caught; in the slight aversion of her gaze, the small tug of her lip. He leaned forward. "What is it?"

"It's just—you never give me a red one. _Iba-chan_ says red one means you love someone."

Sasuke might have been slightly flabbergasted. "Oh."

"I'll give you one tomorrow," said Itachi, gently ruffling her hair.

She scowled. "But—I don't want one now!"

"Why?"

"Because I asked for it!" she admonished. "It's not the same!" and then, he suspected, just to spite him, "Papa, you're pasty! Get some sun!"

"Then we'll buy you a better one," Itachi assured. "And we'll get your Papa some sun, too."

* * *

The summons from the _Oyabun_ came in the middle of August. Sarada was just beginning to make progress without a walker, and every night, for an hour he silently coaxed her into an exercise regime; accompanying her in a walk around the quarter end of the private room units. Whenever she seemed right at the edge, he would scoop her up in a princess carry and slowly shuffle to her room. She would lean her small head on his shoulder and when he would tuck her in, she would bravely scooch closer so that he would have no choice but to lay with her.

Sometimes—he found himself dozing off in a dreamless sleep.

But even in those moments, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that somewhere in the recesses of the Uchiha estate, there was a canon fire waiting to be launched.

Before Madara, roughly half a century before either _rengo_ had been born, was an extremely volatile time in the _Konohagakure_ politics; marked by the rule of a military dictator Tajima Uchiha, who had named himself the _Kage_ and was in office for a whopping ten years. His militant rise to power had sparked mass democratization movements across the country, and he had been responsible for one of the nation's greatest tragedies—the _Uzumaki_ Massacre—in which more than fifty decedents of the Uzumaki line; posing as vigilante protesters had been killed using military force.

The democratization movement had continued throughout the decade, led in the most part by small clans that now, in this day, thrived in Konoha—serving their allegiance to an allied _rengo_. It had been an extremely dangerous activity that had to be carried out in secret via book clubs and secret organizations, because protestors were regularly met with military force, detained without cause, and tortured. It had been a dangerous time for the city, as anyone caught in the crossfire had been regularly tear-gassed, beaten, arrested or brutally murdered.

The torture and death of Itama Senju had helped spur a mass demonstration in June of that year, which had forced the dictatorship to hold democratic elections. Later that year, Tajima Uchiha had mysteriously died in his sleep; and his son Uchiha Madara had held out a hand of reconciliation to Batsuma Senju—who at the time had vehemently declared that he would never join hands with the clan responsible for his son's death. But grief had had its toll on Batsuma; who had died later in the year, after which Hashirama Senju had accepted Madara's offer to conciliate.

Two years later, the tide had turned again after Tobirama Senju had murdered Madara's brother.

But as Sasuke tucked Sarada in that night and waited for her breathing to even out, counting down the seconds to his meet-up; he prayed for that long dormant sense of judicature to rise once—just this once more in Madara.

The Uchiha _Oyabun_ dictated his _rengo_ with an arcane set of convictions; refused to budge and held such ferocious rancor in his heart that it had started taking a toll on his body. It was wholly possible that he ask of an insane compensation for keeping Sarada alive and such esoteric beliefs were what Sasuke was terrified of as he kneeled on the wooden _roku_ outside the _ima's shouji_ and awaited his beckon.

"Enter."

The _ima_ was arranged in the traditional _Kenso_ fashion, with a _kotatsu_ in the middle and several _fusuma_ screens strategically placed around the room to cut of anything unsightly. Uchiha Madara sat behind the _kotatsu_ , his mouth tugged down in an ageless moue, lines disappearing into the aging hollows of his cheeks and hands folded into the sleeves of his kimono—there was something indecipherably sinister about his disposition; an aura of potent perniciousness that made people regale tales of his tyranny.

Sasuke bowed deeply ad kept his gaze averted.

"It has been too long, Sasuke."

The hair on the back of his neck rose up at the intensity of his tone; Madara's voice was gravelly, like a car travelling over a patch of building chips. Sasuke made sure to keep his posture abject.

"How is your daughter?"

"She's getting better, Uchiha- _sama_."

Madara hummed his approval. There was a soft clinking sound as he took a long drag from his _kiseru_. Sasuke suspected that Madara's dependence of _Kizami_ was just a way to blur the lines of cruelty and vengeance, but as he carefully placed the pipe in the _tobako-bon_ , Sasuke thought that maybe he was assuming paeridolia.

"Get rid of the mother," Madara commanded, as if to break Sasuke out of this reverie of comeuppance.

His silence may have been a clear indication of his uncanny unsettledness at the command; for Uchiha Madara smiled, and in between the small lines tugging at the edges of his mouth, Sasuke read the malignity and in his voice, the violence.

"She has not a drop of _Uchiha_ in her."

She didn't—Haruno Sakura was a differing paradox of everything Uchiha, and he had no love lost for her. Had she been anyone else, he wouldn't even have hesitated to drive her through with his _chokuto_ ; but she wasn't anyone else—she was Sarada's mother, and in their child, every single day he saw the angle of her face, the wideness of her forehead, the shape of her eyes, the curve of her smile and— _she's kind and loving and – and perfect!_

Trying not to betray his reaction, he slowly, carefully pulled his eyes up. The orange glow from the charcoal fire pot was playing a chiaroscuro of shades on his face and in the dim glow of the room, _Oyabun_ Madara looked especially threatening. This was dicey territory, Sasuke knew, and he had to negotiate carefully; but he also knew that right then, was not the time for negotiations, so he bowed his head respectfully once more.

"As you wish."

* * *

 _Tbc_

 _As per popular demand, a glossary:_

 _Kiseru –_ A smoking pipe  
 _Fusuma_ _–_ A moveable screen  
 _Ima_ – living room  
 _Kenso_ – Japanese style interior design  
 _Roku_ – Shaded walkway _  
Kanzashi –_ Tobacco _  
Shouji –_ Sliding rice paper doors with wooden frames

 _I DEMAND that you leave me a review._


	8. Chapter 8

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _The trouble with trouble is, that it starts out as fun_.

* * *

It just so happened that Sarada was now refusing to talk to her; with a sullen pout and a grouchy disposition, she expertly kept deflecting Sakura's gaze.

"Come on, Sarada," she coaxed gently, lightly touching the edge of her hand.

But Sarada refused to budge.

* * *

From what he had observed so far, Haruno Sakura was a passionate, concupiscent being—in complete contrast to his predatory, voracious actuality. She would never be meek enough to back away and let them take Sarada away; the way he saw it, she would play her fear in violent, ferocious reactions to protect her daughter at all costs. He, both, wanted to observe and avoid that.

He'd been wondering about the situation for a while now—and understood fully well that he would never have been able to be a quiet, steadfast father, but he also knew it in his bones that he would have always been there for her. Would that had been enough, he wondered, the unexpected juxtaposition of responsibility and love, obligation and encumbrance? Was Sarada not better enough growing away from the burden of the _gokudo_?

Now he wondered whether she hadn't been right after all. Until this moment, he'd been driven by rage, which was a despot of an emotion: when rage ruled, it ruled alone; alone, the mind was void of everything except the anger.

But now that his wrath had been defused, now that Sarada; sitting in the corner of his heart, urged him to defer, fear came rushing back; fear of loss, fear of dying, fear of failing in the end, after every sacrifice had been made.

He understood now, and appreciated the fact that Sarada loved her mother quite as ferociously as her mother loved her. To take that away would not only be an act of vicious spite, but would echo of a bestiality he wanted to keep far, far away from his daughter.

* * *

Sakura heaved a long sigh, squeezed out a dab of shampoo on her hand, lathered it into Sarada's hair and avoided her parents' eyes.

"Does my little puppy want something?" Kizashi cooed lovingly, leaning out of his wheelchair. There were large, scabbed over remnants of water retentive wounds on his legs, now, and over the past year, his huge, bulging physique had taken a swift turn towards shriveled.

Sarada said _yes_ , the same time Sakura mumbled a _no_.

Sarada shot her a wounded look and Sakura flashed back to earlier in the say, when her eyes, brimming with tears of lament had shot piping hot contention at her. _Why can't Papa live with us_ , she'd wailed. _You said he was a good person! You said you were wrong about him_!

"Sarada," she'd tried to interject lamely, miserable and limp, "Please understand Mama…"

"Why can't we be a family? Why do we have to live without Papa? Why do you hate him?!"

Like being shot through with a bullet, three times in a row, Sakura jolted, then wilted down into her seat. She'd been terrified of this exact situation the moment Sarada had opened her eyes. For an eight year old child with no prior experiences with life chucking curve balls at the most inopportune of moments, she'd handled her situation with grace—it was only fair that she be allowed this small leeway. For the longest time, she'd tucked away the gaping hole of a Papa in the cold, dark corners of her heart, and now that she'd gotten a small taste of its loving likeness, she never wanted to let go. How could Sakura begrudge her that?

But she also remembered Uchiha Fugaku's cold, calculating gaze as he'd regarded her all those months ago; the resentment in Uchiha Sasuke's eyes every time they passed each other by; and she wondered exactly how she could entrust her daughter into a murderers hands.

" _I want my Papa_!" said Sarada now, so forcefully that her head pulled out of the small vat of water, dripping soapy suds of water onto her sheets. Kizashi was just shocked while Mebuki looked strained.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Kizashi reassured her, and Sarada deflated. " _Oji-chan_ …" she whispered with a wobble in her voice, "I really, really want my Papa."

Kizashi, feeble and taken aback, could only look upon in sadness as Sarada reached out into his arms. Sakura shared a grim look with Mebuki.

* * *

That night, as Sasuke presented her a bright, blooming dahlia flower, Sarada turned away from him. Startled, he just sat there, feeling a little lost, his hand pulling down into his lap; only recently he had managed to acquaint himself with the bright, happy Sarada. Given the circumstances right then, he didn't think he had it in him to be halfway decent with an angry, brooding child. But he also knew that he would never be able to rest easy knowing that he hadn't even tried; his heart gave a little.

He looked around, grappling for something to say, to start a conversation, to reach into his mental repertoire of gentle cajoling, of which, there were none and noticed the damp spot under her head – and an accompanying blow dryer, the edge of which was sitting in a sad puddle of water on the side table.

He stood up, stuck the flower into its home of Sarada's vase and plugged the dryer into the extension at the edge of the bed. He checked the length of the wire, then carefully examined the handlebar, found the 'on' switch and held it gingerly away from his face before switching it on; then recoiled slightly at the onslaught of hot air.

Sarada turned around to shoot him a curiously angry look, before hiding her face in the pillow again, and Sasuke found himself lightly touching the ends of her hair to the hot air, while maintaining a safe enough distance from her head. The blowback of hot air made his bangs flutter, and after a few minutes, he felt himself drawn in the rhythm of the grating sound and the gentle blowing of Sarada's hair—for just a moment, he let himself forget the brutality of Madara's task, and let himself get lost in the mundane.

"Turn around?" he asked gently, and after resisting for only a moment, she did, and he dried off the other side of her head. After he'd wrapped up the wire, and cleaned up the watery mess on the side table, he sat down beside the bed. She didn't say anything, but when he took her hand again, she did not push him away. He took heart from that. "Will you tell me what is the matter?"

At this, her face contorted, and as if to hide that, she turned away; his heart tugged at the small frown on the edge of her lip. "Sarada," he commanded gently, "Tell me what is wrong."

Suddenly, she whirled around so that her whole body was facing him; the frown, so reminiscent of her mother, was replaced by an angry scowl. "Why didn't you look for us?!" she demanded angrily, and something inside him withered. "If you'd just found us sooner Mama wouldn't be so angry with you!"

She tried tugging her hand away, but he held on firmly. With his heart contorting in his chest, he asked, "Did your Mama tell you that? That I didn't try to find you?"

A beat passed in silence, and Sarada's lip wobbled. "No," she admitted, eyes bright with tears, "But she said you can't live with us."

The slow burn in Sasuke's chest subsided a little. "I would have," he told Sarada unflinchingly, squeezing her hand in reassurance. "If I had known you were out there, I would—I would have scoured the world to find you."

With teary eyes, Sarada nodded, momentarily consoled, and Sasuke thought it prudent to delve into business now. Tentatively, he asked, "Do you love your Mama?"

Sarada inclined her head, sniffed almost loftily, then looked at him daintily. After a moment, she said, "I don't like her very much right now, but I think I still love her."

Sasuke nodded, his heart strengthening. He put Sarada's hand on his heart and asked, "Do you trust Papa?"

"Aa." She didn't waver in answering, and his heart congealed some more.

"I need you to meet someone for me," he said, feeling the heat of her small hand permeating his shirt.

"Who?" she asked curiously.

"Your great grandfather," he answered, holding on just a little bit tighter to her hand.

"Oh," she said, "But—why does he want to meet me? Does he not like me?"

"Sarada," he assured, "No expectations. Just—be _you_."

She searched his face for any misgivings, and he made sure to keep his gaze locked with hers.

"Okay," she nodded, at last and he hoped to hell and back that it wouldn't blow up in his face.

* * *

"I thought we were meeting him when I got discharged!" Sarada accused, huddled up in the passenger seat beneath a mammoth blanket that spilled down to the vinyl floor mat.

 _You mother doesn't have that much time_ , he thought, shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat. It had taken a feat of utmost stealth to smuggle Sarada out of the hospital; he'd toted her down eight flights of stairs in a princess carry, then expertly bootlegged down the busy Emergency, where among the zoo of sick and injured people, anyone barely noticed a worried father carrying out his sick daughter.

"Mama is going to be so angry!" Sarada proclaimed worriedly.

"She doesn't need to know," he said, starting the car and gearing it in reverse.

"Mama is scary when she gets angry. One time, she punched a hole in the drywall and—"

"Sarada," he interjected, steering the car down a tricky U-turn and mingling on the highway. "She _doesn't_ need to know."

"She will!" said Sarada in an indubitable tone, then huffed a little, he suspected, just to annoy him.

"If you feel sick, tell me. We'll stop."

"I'm fine. But will you stop at a gift shop?"

At that, he felt compelled to look at her. "A gift shop?" he asked dubiously.

"Yes. Mama says you don't go to someone's house empty handed," she recited, almost flippantly, and with a sardonic tilt of his lips, Sasuke nodded his assent. Twenty minutes in, he parked at an upscale department store and carefully extracted Sarada from her blankets; her hair was shoulder length and silky now, and with a healthy pallor of skin and an actively recovering body, he could make out each and every discerning feature of her face—his eyes, his lips, Haruno Sakura's smile, and a glimmer of impishness that was Sarada's own, coupled with a heart so vast and so unlike his own, that she did not find it difficult to love many. Looking at her eyes light up as he carried her inside the automatic doors of the store, he felt a strange sort of calm in this one-man protest against Madara. He decided then, that if this did not work out as he had planned, that Madara eased into the role of a stubborn mule, he, in turn was going to be just as stubborn. He wasn't going to back down.

He lugged her all around the store, until she settled on a cheap box of chocolates and a handful of bright, yellow sunflowers.

"Can you loan me some money?" she asked shyly, and Sasuke graciously handed her his wallet. She took out a handful of bills and she insisted on making the payment herself, silently counting out the change and stocking it back in his wallet carefully. "I'll pay you back later," she assured him, tucking the pocketbook into his shirt and resuming her loose hold around his neck.

He maneuvered his arm to slide the shopping bag around his wrist and said, "You don't have to."

"But this is my gift. I want to buy it with _my_ money," she admonished.

Amused, and forgetting the weight of this assemblage for just a moment, he pretended to think it over, then nodded. "Aa."

Then, "Where do you get your _own_ money?"

She heaved a disappointed sigh, then tucked her head into the crook of his neck. "My _pocket_ money, Papa."

* * *

If the Uchiha _Kigyo Shatei_ and their respective _Mizushobai_ were a grandstand display of pomp, then the Uchiha estate was a pageantry of noble grandeur; in the midst of rolling hills arching in resplendent waves of greens and browns, sat an old manor with adjacent, symmetric offshoots, strategically placed amidst an abundance of lush lawns and age-old trees cardinally preserved by well-designed landscaping. Sasuke had never paid much attention to these surroundings—this was _home_ , he'd been born and raised here; and therefore the relevance of such grandeur had somehow, someway, fallen short—lost that impact of inherent awe.

"Oh, Papa…" Sarada marveled and he felt his entire being soften. "This is your home?"

"Yours as well," he told her, as she gazed outside in awed veneration. He suddenly found it very difficult to steer the car; her face was bright and flushed, and his eyes wouldn't peel away. In the end, he sufficed with one-handedly tucking the blanket under her chin, and solemnly promising, "When you get better, I will take you on a tour."

"Will you take me camping?!" she asked eagerly.

"Aa."

"And hiking?" she jumped a little in her seat.

"Aa."

"And—"

"Whatever you want," he promised, "we will do it."

Satisfied, Sarada leaned back and hugged herself close; there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Very quietly, very playfully, she asked, "Can we bring Mama?"

He didn't answer—couldn't make yet a promise that he wouldn't be able to keep. _That will depend on today_ , he thought grimly, sliding the car to a stop around a cul-de-sac. For just a second, he sat in the car and let himself imagine the outcomes of this day—would Madara, who, to Sasuke's knowledge was made of a monstrous indifference to just about anyone except himself—thaw, or chafe? His hands, resting on the steering wheel trembled.

"Papa?"

He shook himself out of all the _what if's_ and turned to look at Sarada. "Be good," he said. "Be respectful. Be you."

Sasuke didn't knew of she understood his disjointed plea, but she beamed and nodded, so he got out of the car and jogged to her side, opened the door and gently extricated her from the car.

"I can walk, you know," she said offhandedly, carefully situating herself in his arms and holding the gift bag in her hand.

"I know," he said, and walked down a well-worn, flagstoned pathway to the main house.

"Is great grandpa scary?" she asked, hooking a small arm around his neck to better orient herself.

"No," he lied glibly and then worried if she could tell.

She just hummed, looking out at the courtyard as he carried her down the _engawa_. "Is he nice?"

He shrugged noncommittally, finally reaching the _Oyabun_ 's personal chamber. There was a soft glow coming from behind the rice paper of the _shouji_ , and Sasuke took that as an omen of good will as he settled on his knees and set Sarada down beside him. He gently helped her settle beside him, and then they kneeled together in silence, waiting to be summoned.

"Come in," came a scraggly, old voice from within and Sasuke let out a subtle breath of apprehension. Patiently, he helped Sarada up, clutched her hand firmly in his own and lightly slid the _shouji_ open. She walked in small, halting steps all the way to the front of the _kotatsu_ , then bowed deferentially. Sasuke didn't dare meet Madara's eye, just bowed his head in abjection and waited for the next command to shoot.

"Sit."

They did. It was only after he'd helped Sarada kneel once more that he faced Madara again. Keeping his gaze on the _kanzashi_ on the table-top, he said, "My daughter, _Oyabun_."

And Sarada, with small, fastidious hands, put her gifts atop the _kotatsu_ and smiled unflinchingly. "It's nice to meet you, _Ojii-sama_."

He desperately hoped that Madara; this wizened, old man would understand this desperate plea he was expressing in the most damaged of ways. _This is my daughter. She's happy and lovely. Spare her some pain._ He daringly hoped that Madara would find in his heart to forgive his slight, under the sway of that agonizing duality that had transformed even Uchiha Fugaku from ominous to soft-hearted in a single look.

Warily, the _Oyabun_ reached forward and dipped a withered hand inside the gift bag, from the inside of which appeared a small, rectangular, very golden box of chocolates, and examined it carefully. Next he unsheathed the long stemmed Sunflowers and put them next to the golden box. With a set mouth, he observed Sarada grimly, and very slowly, his heart began to sink.

"My Mama says you don't go to someone's home with empty hands," Sarada explained, radiating warmth and kindness even in the face of such cold, blatant dismissal. Sasuke wondered if she was just unassuming or genuinely clueless. "I don't have much money, but I hope you like my gift."

Suddenly, Madara's face was a dichotomy of impassive disbelief and cold calculation, and Sasuke wondered if his morally ambiguous inclination was fighting with a side much swayed in the face of such diffident kindness. Finally, after carefully observing Sarada for a full minute, the _Oyabun_ of the _Uchiha Rengo_ reached out and smoothly opened the lid off the chocolate box. " _Ojou-sama_ ," he addressed Uchiha Sarada—for in his mind, she was inherently _Uchiha_ —almost kindly, "Do you enjoy sweets?"

Startled, Sasuke could only watch in disbelief as Sarada's entire face came iridescently alive. "Yes! Do you, _Ojii-sama_?"

"Very much."

"Then I'm glad I bought you some! Papa was trying to make me buy this horrible show piece," she leaned over the _kotatsu_ and Sasuke instinctively reached out to right her as she lost her balance, a she continued, "but I thought it was horrible! Mama always buys something to eat when we visit _Ojii-chan_!"

Throughout the exchange, Uchiha Madara had slowly straightened up; there was a smile now, tugging one end of his mouth upward. "I see."

"Do you like the flowers?"

"Yes."

"I thought about buying roses but they're so _gloomy_ and _Ibaa-chan_ says Sunflowers are happy flowers and— _Ojii-sama_ , are you happy?"

Sasuke thought that the _Oyabun_ might have been caught just as off-guard as he was. He stared hard at Sarada; grown men rarely dared to challenge him, yet here was this slip of a girl doing exactly that. _I'm Uchiha Sarada. I think the world is a kind, happy place. Don't break my heart_. If his apprehension hadn't matched his surprise, he would've chucked her under the chin and smiled at her courage. Suppressing a not so unprecedented urge to calm his thoughts, he said curtly, "I think that's enough Sarada."

Sarada didn't answer him; neither did she look at him, and when he faced Madara, he noticed a subtle softness in the _Oyabun's_ eyes—a light sheen of milkiness that made his eyes seem almost rheumy. "Yes," he answered quietly.

"You—you seem very nice. Can I visit you again?"

Uchiha Madara actually startled, then inclined his head respectfully. "Make sure that you do, _Ojou-sama_."

* * *

When Sakura saw the empty bed, despite the small niggling doubt in the back of her mind, she assumed that the nurse had taken Sarada for the daily blood tests. And when, after two hours, she still couldn't find her, she started to panic and after only five minutes, that panic morphed into a full-blown rage; for her mind could conjure only one explanation—they'd taken her. They'd taken Sarada from her.

So she stormed up to the VIP suites and remembered that Uchiha Fugaku had been discharged three days ago, then pressed her fingers to her temples. Temper made her dizzy, and fuzzy-headed, which was why she usually tried to avoid it. _Be rational_ , she reminded herself. _Sarada wouldn't just run off without you_.

But just this morning, Sarada had been angry and resentful and—and—suddenly, her chest constricted with fear. She stampeded around the hospital in a fit of terror and barely restrained hysteria, looked in Radiology, Pathology, the Emergency—anywhere and everywhere; and by the time evening rolled around, she roamed around the hospital grounds. There was a bite in the air and the pavements were slick and slippery with the aftermath of a wash but the heat from her righteous anger warmed her up from the inside, till she was sure her eyes were steaming and the rage was now permeating her skin again until she was more hurricane than human.

She thundered back to the private room unit, in a frenzy of almost tears and barely restrained furious trepedition and—and—

"Mama, where have you been?"

—Sarada. Calm and beautiful and—

"Are you crying?"

—safe and sound and sitting in a wheel chair being pushed down the hall by Uchiha Sasuke—she ran down the corridor, fell in front of Sarada and cupped her face lovingly. " _Where did you go?!_ "

"Oh! Papa took me to a…a…late lunch?" Sarada looked in her lap, and Sakura knew she was feeling sheepish and sorry but was totally incapable of expressing it, so she just wiped at her cheeks and hugged her fiercely in relief. "No matter how angry you are with Mama, you will not _ever_ do that again."

"I know."

And later, when Sarada was safely tucked into her bed, even with Uchiha Sasuke in the room, she hovered. It was not until Sarada asked for some fresh juice that she found it in herself to leave, even then, only barely.

* * *

Sarada let out a breath, and Sasuke put a hand on her head—it fit the roundness of his palm perfectly. "That was close. Let's never do that again, okay Papa?"

Sasuke agreed wholeheartedly, flashing back to the car ride back. " _Jiji-sama_ is nice. Why are you so scared of him?" The change in address had unnerved him, but her voice had been lilting, almost jocular. This child was not scared of Uchiha Madara, and though he knew that she should be disabused of any notion of immunity to the _Oyabun's_ whims, something had stayed his hand—just like, he imagined, something had stayed Madara's.

Now, Sarada made him help her down, then dug out her mother's purse and presented him with a few bills.

"Is that your pocket money?" he asked wryly.

Sarada shrugged. "I haven't gotten any since I got sick. So Mama owes me," she said with a defensive sort of business savvy that Sasuke found himself amused at. Silently, without brokering an argument, he took the money and put it in his pocket, because he was coming to realize that Sarada was a small lady of principles and abruptly his heart flooded with such complete, unadulterated, overpowering love, that he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her.

"Papa…"

He could tell Sarada was startled, so he said, "Thank you. For staying." _For not withering away by your sickness._

 _Thank you._

 _For not dying._

* * *

When he drove back to the Estate that night, to collect the possible repercussions of his actions that day, for the first time in weeks, he felt something in his chest loosen. The weight on his shoulders was lighter than it had ever been and he felt…happy.

Sarada was kind and wise, brave and compassionate. He knew for a fact that he would have never been able to raise her that way and a small corner of his heart thawed for Haruno Sakura.

"Clever move, Sasuke."

Madara leaned back in his recliner and took a long drag from the _kanzashi_. In that moment, his voice sounded almost kind. With a lowered gaze, Sasuke bowed his head respectfully, acknowledged his actions.

Madara sighed, almost mournfully. "Very well. Take that woman as your _sesai_ ," he commanded. "She will become a part of this _gokudo_ ; if not in blood, then in everything else."

And if it was a choice between killing the mother of his child or clipping off her wings—he would always choose the lesser of the two evils.

* * *

 _Tbc_

 _Sesai – Legal wife  
Kigyo Shatei_ – _Black buisness_  
 _Mizushobai – Legal business, usually as a front for the black one_

 _Keep leaving me reviews and I'll be sure to update soon._ _J_


	9. Chapter 9

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _She made broken look beautiful and strong look invincible. She walked with the universe on her shoulders and made it look like a pair of wings._

* * *

"Just for yesterday, Shizune- _san_ is going to add three more days to your discharge date."

Sarada made a face.

"You're not completely off the hook yet, Sarada. Please take care of yourself. What did you eat yesterday?"

Sarada lowered her gaze, looked very guilty. In a very small voice, she admitted, "Chocolates…"

Sakura sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Chocolates? Didn't he take you out for a late _lunch_?!" she asked, exasperated. "Sarada—"

"I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"

"You better hope you wouldn't!"

* * *

He was going to marry Haruno Sakura.

He was going to _marry,_ _Haruno_ Sakura.

The notion seemed to gloss over his mind like a silky wave—a thought that he just couldn't grasp.

Haruno Sakura—headstrong, bullheaded, pink haired, green eyed, a la perpetually contemptuous frown, soft heart, strong mind, and a presence that made his skin curdle—was going to be his _sesai_.

"She's never going to agree." Itachi told him empathetically.

Sasuke agreed. Marriage— _marriage_ entailed a lifetime of well-adjusted intimacy, a togetherness that would sprout, if not ardor, then at the very least, a gentle sort of affection—an understanding, an adjustment. The only thing he felt for Haruno Sakura was a simmering sort of revulsion—a grudge so deep-seated, he was still finding it hard to bode anything but an ill will for her.

But she was not just Haruno Sakura anymore—she was Uchiha Sarada's mother; and Sarada loved her mother very much. He could only imagine what would happen with Sarada, if anything were to harm her mother. He'd already lost too much time; eight years' worth of love and life and memories. He had no desire to lose anymore.

So he said, "I'm not going to give her a choice."

* * *

That night, as he sat with Sarada, he wondered how one asked their daughter for her mother's hand in marriage.

"Papa?"

Automatically, his head shot up. "Aa?"

"Papa. PapaPapaPapaPapaPapaPapaPapa!" Sarada laughed, and the sound of her laughter eased the dizzy discombobulation in his head.

"Aa?" he asked, a smile touching the corner of his lips like a knee-jerk reaction, and just for a single moment, he forgot the grittiness of his eyes, the slump of his shoulders and the weight of the entire world.

"Nothing. I just like saying it."

And he liked hearing it, he thought. If Haruno Sakura wasn't just an individual person anymore, then so was he. He was Papa now—Uchiha Sarada's Papa; far from a perfect one, but he knew even then that if this girl wanted the sky to fall, then he would make the heavens tremble until it would crumble down to pieces. The loose end of his bargain with Madara tightened. Very tentatively, he asked, "Sarada?"

"Hm?"

He swallowed. "Can I—would it make you happy if I married your mother?"

There was no immediate reaction; she just leaned back into the pillows and looked at the ceiling. Sasuke tucked the blanket more firmly around her sides. After several seconds, she said, "I don't think it works that way. It's not about if _I'm_ happy about it. It's about if _Mama_ is happy about it." Then very morosely, she mumbled, "Mama doesn't like you very much."

Very lightly, he exhaled. _It is not about either of us liking each other_ , he wanted to tell her. _It's about survival_. _It's about_ you _and your future and_ your _happiness_.

"What if—I tell you that—she…that I…" he stopped, stumbled over thousands of explanations in his head. What could he possibly say to explain this inscrutable situation, he wondered. _If I don't marry your mother, your grandfather would have her murdered_ _and there is nothing I would be able to do about it_.

In the end, he heaved out an irked sigh and felt an irrational anger start to bubble in his stomach again—he'd been dealing with a lot of unreasonable acrimony, lately.

It was Sarada, who reached out and gently, lovingly, patted him on the head. "You look very tired, Papa," she said softly and as if triggered by her words, the exhaustion suddenly bore down on him like a dead weight. "Would you like to lay down for a few minutes?" she asked, shifting aside to make some room for him.

Wordlessly, he curled up at her side and let her tuck them both in, and when she'd settled down, he held her close. He listened to the clock tick seconds away in the silence, and finally, after a few minutes had passed, started again. "Sarada," he said, "I may not like your mother, and she may not like me; but we both love you very much."

She pulled out her small head from under his chin and locked eyes with him. This time, he didn't flinch away. "If she doesn't—marry me, something awful could happen to her. And no matter how much I don't like her, I know that you love her very much."

Her lip wobbled for just a second, and Sasuke could see a storm of accusations gathering in her eyes. He waited patiently for the antagonism to build, to crumble, to burst; and was surprised when it just dwindled down to a heated conniption. Finally, she asked, "Will _you_ hurt her?"

"No," he assured, holding her gaze for fifteen agonizing seconds, before she nodded a reluctant assent. "Okay," she said, burying her face in his chest again, but this time, her small frame shook a little.

"I won't let anyone hurt your mother," he promised, tucking her close and hoping to hell and back that he was right.

* * *

"Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you like Papa?"

Sakura could barely tell, but there was an undercurrent of force in that entendre that she did not know what to make of. So she kept peeling the apple in her hand and focused really hard on making the peel as light and lasting as she possibly could.

"You—you said he was a bad person and then you said you were wrong."

At that, she suddenly stopped, stared hard at the length of skin dangling from her knife, and then hesitantly, pulled her gaze up. "Did—Did something happen?"

Something _had_ happened, she could tell. Sarada was angry; there was an accusation in her eyes that was shooting straight at Sakura's heart. "What happened?" she demanded. "Did someone say something?"

Sarada's response was brave and strong and broken all at once. "Mama, would you please marry Papa?"

To that, she couldn't say a single word.

* * *

Haruno Kizashi and Mebuki were painfully ordinary people; and had Haruno Sakura not borne his child, so would she be. They may have taken him for a savage, but Uchiha Mikoto had instilled a lifetime of etiquette in his blood; so far be it for him to deny the Haruno clan the common courtesy of asking for their daughter's hand in marriage.

"I—don't understand…" said Haruno Kizashi, an eternity's worth of white hair gleaming on his head.

Sasuke braced himself and carefully took the cup of sweet smelling mint tea Haruno Mebuki was offering him—it quivered a little on the saucer plate.

"You…want to marry our Sakura?"

"Aa."

"But—I thought…"

"It is not a decision that I, alone have made," he explained, putting his cup down without taking a sip. "It is a repercussion."

Haruno Mebuki looked slightly enraged, so he quickly followed, "I'm sure you have heard of _Oyabun_ Madara- _sama_. It is his wish that Sarada and her mother take on the _Uchiha_ name." He didn't have the heart to elucidate what would happen otherwise. But judging by the expression on their faces, he guessed that they understood.

"Will she—she won't—"

"I assure you that I will not let anyone, or anything harm your daughter."

"But Sarada…"

"Sarada understands the necessity of my actions."

They looked terrified, and for good reason. Marrying into the _gokudo_ was like digging up your own grave—there would be consequences, sacrifices, compromises; it would not be an easy alteration. Already, he subtly looked at the clock, Hidan and Deidara would have been dispatched to fetch her; and if he did not hurry, he feared that there might be bloodshed.

"Your daughter…she will want for nothing." Except her freedom and her family and everything she was being forced to leave behind, he willfully neglected to mention, then got up, gathered his thoughts and walked towards the door.

"Wait!" Haruno Mebuki called out, and against his better judgment, he turned. Kizashi sat in his spot, his head now in his hands, shoulders shaking gently. Sasuke looked away, curbed the small niggle of guilt in the very corners of his heart and faced Haruno Mebuki almost stoically.

"Be good to her," she said looking brave and old. It was an order—gruff, quick—yet oddly pleading. "My Sakura. If you hurt her, I will hunt you down myself—"

"Ease your mind. I won't harm her," he assured her, completely dismissing the first part of her request. _Be good to her_. What would being good to her entail, he wondered, and if his heart would ever be big enough to accept it.

Mebuki stared at him as the seconds beat on, then nodded and stepped back. He walked away, and didn't look back.

* * *

"What?!" Ino was furious and indignant.

Sakura buried her face in her arms.

Sai sighed, patted her on the back, explained; "It's only natural. She just found out about him. He loves her and she loves him. You love her and she loves you. She wants her family to be together."

Ino gently shoved a spoonful of scrambled eggs into Inojin's mouth. "Sai, darling? Stop making sense and just let me hate them all in peace."

Sai gracefully bowed away. "Yes, dear."

"It's fine, Sakura," Ino assured unfailingly, sprinkling a pinch of salt in a tall, trendy glass full of margarita and expertly sliding it down the counter. "Tomorrow, she's going to get discharged, and gradually, he'll stop hounding you, and eventually, we'll all forget this ever happened. Don't worry."

Against all odds, Sakura managed a smile, and judging by the look on Ino's face, that had been the goal all along. But even she could tell there was something sardonic about this dark sort of humor. Shaking herself out of these thoughts, she grabbed the stem of her glass and took a sip; savored the cool, sweet and sour flavor exploding through her taste buds and remembered inopportunely that she'd been drinking the very same margarita the very first night she'd encountered Uchiha Sasuke.

Back then, he'd just been a gorgeous guy looking for a good time; hadn't seemed like the cold, conceited snob that she now regularly encountered. In fact, he'd seemed every inch a distinguished, elegant socialite. His attitude towards had been certainly courteous, and he'd seemed like he'd had a sense of humor.

Seen now, through the eyes of a woman scorned, relieved of the magic of rose colored glasses; the only thing she saw was the arrogant arch of his brows, that high handed proclivity that only came with his last name, and the constant reminder of his threat. _You will pay_.

"Haruno Sakura?"

"Mm?"

"Why don't you come back down to earth? We, minions are waiting for you."

"Ino, you Pig. I love you."

"Yes, I know. I _am_ the best, aren't I?"

Sakura wholeheartedly agreed, and was just about to nod her assent when there was a knock on the door.

"Sai, honey, would you get the door, please?" Ino called out into the living room.

"Going, dear."

"You sure boss him around a lot," Sakura joked, then shot up in her seat as the door was flung open with a loud bang, and in came a man. He was young, Sakura noticed, as her brain started catching up with her surroundings; twenty-five, maybe twenty-six, she analyzed, slowly sliding out of her seat and inching towards Ino, who was looking at the man with spitting fury in her eyes. From beyond the threshold, they could hear noises; someone, probably Sai, was struggling with someone else.

"Ino," she cautioned, sliding in front of her friend, grasping the stem of the glass and wielding it like a knife. Behind them, Inojin started to wail.

"Hey, blondie," the man grinned. He had rough, tanned skin, baby-blue eyes, hair the color of honey pulled back in a tail and a mouth set in an eerie grin. He nodded at Sakura, didn't step a foot inside the room, and whipped his head around as something—someone—crashed to the ground. "OYE, Hidan!" he shouted, the same time Ino lunged forward with a scream. " _SAI_!"

"What the fuck are you doing, un!?" he yelled, easily evading Ino's attack and tossing her back into Sakura, who barely managed to cast the glass out of her hand before it rammed into Ino. They both stumbled back into the kitchen island, sent a basket full of china onto the floor, barely managed to escape the resulting shards of porcelain and glass. "The boss said no killing people, un!"

"Shut the fuck up, you fucking cheese grater!" came a voice from the hall and suddenly, the man at the door was shoved aside, and another one—Hidan, walked in. Sakura swallowed a figurative spoonful of unease, and held Ino a little closer to herself; something in Hidan's disposition screamed deranged; maybe it was the odd juxtaposition of the whipcord, lean body beneath a black shirt that looked like it was stained with blood, with a thatch of platinum hair slicked back in a neat do at the back of his head. Or maybe, Sakura thought, feeling a light sheen of sweat develop on her brow, the top of her lip, the side of her neck, it was the bizarre weapon he was wielding around like a baseball bat—a scythe, she fumbled with the thought. It was a scythe, and coupled with the unhinged look in Hidan's eyes, it made for a terrifying sight.

"W—Who are you?" she managed, helping Ino up on trembling legs, so that they stood side by side, in front of a whimpering Inojin. "Who sent you?"

"Who the fuck do you think?"

"Shut up!" the other one snapped, then turned a penurious scowl in Sakura's direction, completely disregarded her subtle effort to get a hold of a glass shard— _any_ glass shard to defend themselves.

"Sai," Ino whispered, her hand quaking in Sakura's own, and Sakura followed the line of her sight to Hidan's bloody scythe.

"He's fucking alive!" Hidan grumbled, whipping out a cloth from nowhere and wiping his weapon clean. Then, "Deidara," he snapped waspishly, "When the fuck is he coming?"

Sakura swallowed again, wobbled a little on her feet and tried to take charge of the situation. Her head swam, as a sudden terror skittered down her spine. Inojin let out a wail again and Ino teetered back to shield him a little better. No one dared move. "Who—Uchiha Sasuke sent you?"

There was something uncanny in Deidara's smile. If his eyes weren't lined that certain way, or if his teeth hadn't been so blindingly white, or if he didn't annotate every other sentence with that curious word, he would've looked, seemed, sounded almost kind. "Oh, he's on his way, un."

But kind he was not.

"Where's my daughter?" she asked, pretending to regain some of her bearings. "What have you done with Sai?"

With machinelike precision, Hidan swung his scythe wide, once, twice, before setting it down with a satisfied plunk. "He's fucking alive. Don't know about your kid, though."

In her heart of hearts, Sakura knew that Uchiha Sasuke would never, not in this lifetime nor the next twenty, put Sarada in harm's way. But at that moment, Inojin was wailing behind her, Ino was trembling at her side; in furious indignation or terrified gimmick, she did not know, and Sai was battling death down the hallway and she—she was losing her fucking mind as she charged forward, grabbing the first thing she could lay her hands on, without a thought for consequences and stabbed at Hidan with the broken stem of the wine glass.

He howled; in pain, in fury and shoved her hard enough that she crashed into the kitchen Island; her shoulders prickled painfully and her legs gave out; small shards of glass embedded themselves in her palms but she had no time to assess the damage; Ino had thrown herself at Deidara and was struggling to get an inch, a small leeway to get something— _anything_ —across; to hurt and to kill.

Sakura heaved herself up to join her, and stopped short when Hidan grabbed her from behind, holding her by a handful of her locks. She screamed, and for just a moment, everything stopped; time stretched into infinity as she fumbled at the island, managed to grab a chef's knife and plunged it back, smack into the tautness of her locks—it cut through with a crisp, unyielding force, and Hidan was suddenly knocked backwards. She whirled, fully intending to ram that knife into his abdomen, shuddering with the force of her terror and fury, holding on to the ominous noise of baby Inojin waiting for his parents and— _don't know about your kid, though…don't know about your kid, though…DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOUR KID, THOUGH._

She plunged. Several things happened at once, then; Ino screamed, Deidara shouted, she clenched her eyes closed, waited for the squelch of the knife sliding through a layer of skin, muscles, meat, bones, organs, and…

…and nothing happened. In the complete and utter silence of the room, sans Ino's child, she looked down at her wrist—which was being held in a dead lock by a large, callused hand. She followed the hand, up the wrist, up the arm, up the shoulder and her eyes met Uchiha Sasuke's. Abruptly, without warning, she lost all the strength in her legs, crashed down to her knees, wrist sliding through Uchiha Sasuke's hand, and stared—just stared and stared and stared; at her quivering hand, the gleaming knife, a lock of her hair; felt the rapidfire palpitation of her heart.

"What the _fuck_ took you so long?!" Hidan bellowed, angry, aggrieved, indignant and resentful. But Sakura didn't notice. She just stared at her hand; her hand that healed and fixed people, took out malignant growths, stitched up gaping holes, grafted new, healthy organs; her hand that was just about to _kill_ someone.

She blinked.

"Sakura."

She blinked again, felt her head begin to swim, distantly heard someone calling her name—

"Sakura. Look at me."

Uchiha Sasuke, squatting at her side, urging her to look up. She did, let him help her up, kept looking into his eyes and when he didn't move, didn't explained, asked, " _Why?_ "

He never answered, just took her wrist, turned around and dragged her along. So she stood her ground and refused to budge, looked around, saw Ino being restrained by Deidara, Hidan seething in a corner, Inojin moaning at his mother and felt a sudden bristling fury prick a thousand, tiny needles inside her lungs. "What the fuck do you think you're doing!?"

He didn't stop, kept dragging her along, so she dug her heels into the floor and held on to the kitchen counter with her other hand. When she refused to budge, he turned around, looked directly into her eyes and said, "You're coming with me. You—will become an Uchiha; if not in blood, then everything else."

The prickling fury in her lungs morphed into a full blown state of cold, murderous rage. Of course he would try this, she thought; he, who approached every situation in life with a no-stone-unturned thoroughness. "It was _you_ ," she seethed. "You put that stupid thought in Sarada's mind!"

His entire being seemed to suddenly harden. "Aa," he said. "It was me. I need Sarada, and Sarada needs you."

What an insanely, degrading proposition, Sakura thought furiously. "Then fight me for legal custody!" she shouted, trying to wring her wrist free of his grasp. "Or are you not confident that you'll win!"

He pulled her close in one, quick, smooth movement, then, and grasped her by the chin forcefully. "It was _you_ , who made sure eight years ago that I never will," he hissed and blindly, insanely, Sakura fought him, trying to claw his hand away from her being and when he didn't let go, went limp. Dead-Man's float; she wondered if it would work—it didn't, so she struggled to pull free one last time, before bravely mocking, "My heart bleeds for you."

Slowly, his hold on her face gentled, and her chest constricted with fear as she read the furious determination in his face. Her throat worked, trying to swallow convulsively in vain. She wondered what he was going to do with her—to do _to_ her. In the background, she could see Ino trying to wrestle her way out of Deidara's grasp.

Her breath became short, as she waited for him to strike, to whip, to smite, and when he didn't she shamefully admitted, "I did, what I did for a reason. Look at what's happening now." The crazy amalgamation of fear and fury hadn't yet subsided in her chest, but there was a sudden will to _survive_.

The heat in his eyes intensified as he dryly repeated her words, "Aa. Look at what's happening now."

Humiliated, she couldn't string together words to express neither her rage, nor her dread.

"Come," he commanded, pulling her by the wrist once more. "Sarada must be waiting for her mother. Deidara. Release that woman. Compensate for the damage."

Deidara's expression changed from scorn to military self-importance. "I'll take care of it!"

And with tears in her eyes, fury in her veins and stumbling steps, she followed him out the door, over Sai's unconscious body and down three flights of stairs before being unceremoniously shoved into the passenger seat of a car.

* * *

 _Tbc_

 _Keep leaving me reviews, and I'll be sure to update soon! ^^_


	10. Chapter 10

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10.**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _Contemplating life, I see. You will, rest assured, die someday._

* * *

"Stop," he snapped, "behaving like fucking Joan of Arc."

Haruno Sakura; wild and furious, looking feral with her hair chopped of, shot him a scathing look. He wangled the car in reverse and pulled out of the curb. There was a long, nasty looking gash on the side of her face, a small bump on her temple and little pinpricks of glass embedded in the palms of her hands. He wondered if she were exceptionally brave or completely numb to the pain.

"You get off your fucking high horse, Uchiha Sasuke," she seethed, angry and ethreal. "My life is unraveling in front of my eyes. I _will_ behave like fucking Joan of Arc if I have to!"

He didn't reply. If this small rebellion was going to help her accept this fate, then he wasn't going to stand in her way.

* * *

For the rest of the drive, she remained silent; fumed quietly. Vengeance was a cruel, driving master, she understood now – especially the retribution of someone as powerful as Uchiha. She pressed herself against the leather of the door and worried – about Ino, about Sai, about Mebuki and Kizashi. And after she'd run out of that niggling perturbation, settled on a quibbling sort of disquietude for herself – what kind of a sentence would she have to suffer for keeping her daughter safe, for even now, in the throes of such heated criticism, those eight years were a small vindication; any doubt that she'd been harboring over the past few months, had abruptly disappeared.

You will pay. She remembered his words, angry and ominous; the night of Sarada's surgery. Now, as the car passed by green hills and a rocky road, she regretted brushing off those words away. _We should have run away when we had the chance_ , she thought, numb and unfeeling, staring right past the high, green grass, glowing against the paintbrush back-drop of the trees lining the edge of _Konohagakure_ woods.

So deep seated was her resentment, that she completely missed the wrought-iron gate, designed appropriately into an intricate Gothic monstrosity, and the looming wall accompanying it on either side. Only when the car slowly skidded to a stop, did she jolt out of her umbrage. Willfully, she looked beyond Uchiha Sasuke, to the paddocks, the forest, the faint silhouette of the outbuildings and farther, to where the land went its long, endless roll to the bottom of the sky.

"Just—do whatever you want—say or scream whatever you want, at me."

Carefully, she angled her head at him, looked at the his face from the bottom of her lashes, from just beneath her nose—but no matter how she observed, couldn't find a single misgiving on his face. He was being entirely sincere. A little stunned, and a whole lot angry, she realized that she was being very adroitly maneuvered. He wanted her to slave for his goal, holding out his debasement as a carrot before her. But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted only to—

"There's not a bag in the world that could contain the amount of douche you are!" she snapped, against her better judgment. _Stay quiet_ , her mind advised. _Scream_ , her heart raged. And Haruno Sakura, if anything, was a creature of intense emotion. "You are a …you are a _douche canoe_!"

He nodded, accepting her ridiculous vitriol, looking satisfied. "Aa," he said and the rage simmering at her temples suddenly clouded her mind. "How could you hurt innocent people!" she screamed. "How could you hurt _INO_! Sarada will never forgive you! _I_ will _never_ forgive you!"

He looked calm—like her words were sliding off of an invisible shield, and it only made her rage more tangible. Without her own knowledge or acquiescence, her hand reached out, ready and willing to rip out a fistful of his hair, to rake her nails down his finely sculpted face, to shred his expensive looking shirt with her bare hands; but he caught her wrists, and had she been in the right state of mind, she might have noticed the slight empathy in his gaze. Instead, she saw black irises, even blacker pupils and an arrogant arch of an eyebrow—she struggled to rip free, to hurt, to mutilate—and when she realized that she couldn't, she screamed. Screamed and screamed until her voice became hoarse, her throat became dry. Limp and defeated, she finally wrenched her wrists out of his hands and stared at him furiously for ten humming seconds, then sidled away, silently vowing to shred his arm if he tried to touch her again.

Her pledge was tested only a second later, as Uchiha Sasuke reached out and roughly cupped her face in his hands. In a raging, incandescent frenzy, she twisted and turned in his grasp, clawed at his hands, and when nothing worked, glared at him, hissed through clenched teeth, " _Let go_!"

"You will be presented to the _Oyabun_ , soon," he told her solemnly, completely disregarding her furious command. "Do not talk back."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off—

"Do _not_ talk back."

She clenched her mouth shut, tried to be reasonable, tried not to panic.

" _Do_ _not_ talk back," he commanded once more, then let go of her face and revved up the car again.

* * *

Beneath the rolling green expanse of the Uchiha Estate, was a graveyard of blood and bones, murder and black money. Uchiha may have managed to cover up their philandering ways beneath a layer of autochthonous perfection, but she _saw_ —saw the rivers of blood and tears, the weeds of tyranny and oppression, and when Uchiha Sasuke parked the car at a cul-de-sac, she defiantly kept sitting in the car until he yanked the door open and jerked her out the door. She stumbled, and he caught her, righted her properly, and said once more, "Remember; do—"

"—not talk back!" she cut him off darkly.

He nodded once and his hands slid down her forearms to her wrist. He squeezed once, gently, before dragging her inside. She stumbled thrice before matching his pace, didn't notice anything past the ringing in her ears, the palpitations of her heart, the blur of a wooden floor passing by; because in her heart of hearts, she knew what Uchiha Madara, ruthless and vicious, must have had in store for her—death.

 _I'm going to die_ , she thought, and even the voice inside her head was muted. _I'm going to die and they're going to make my daughter a killer_.

She didn't resist, when Uchiha Sasuke gently pushed her down on her knees, just kept her head down and tried to calm her racing heart. _I did my best_ , she assured herself. _Sarada is alive. Ino is alive. Oka-chan and Otou-chan are alive. Only they matter_.

"Enter."

It was old and gruff, that voice—so generic and commonplace that all the anger that had been simmering inside her chest, her mind, the very tips of her fingers and toes suddenly morphed into an unforeseen, undulated terror. It was her body, preparing for a fight or flight situation; except this time, there was nowhere to take flight; just a paper door being slid aside, and her, being hauled up by Uchiha Sasuke.

The muscles in her legs had tightened, were fully prepared to run, her blood vessels must have been diluted to increase blood flow, because she was sweating slightly now, and terror had made it so that she couldn't even look her murderer in the eye. Churlishly, she was pulled down to her knees once more.

There was a throaty chuckle and she found her chest constricting. She tried to swallow, but her moth was dry. Very slowly, she raised her head; Uchiha Madara stared back at her. Instinctively, her hands pulled together in her lap. Uchiha Madara's gaze followed the small movement. He nodded, almost in approval.

"She's a fighter," he said, after appraising her in silence for a few minutes. His eyes were pinned on her, but his tone was directed at Uchiha Sasuke.

"Aa."

She figured she must have looked appropriately beat up and disheveled. As if triggered by the thought, her hands started prickling and she looked down. It took her five seconds to register the tiny rivulets of blood encrusted on her hands, her wrists; the small shards of glass that must have been embedded in her palms for over two hours now. It still didn't hurt and she wondered if it was her body numbing down the physical pain to prepare her for the ultimate one. _No matter_ , she thought, preparing to use them to claw at Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Sasuke, whoever would have nerve enough to kill her. Any and all advantage, even a painful one, she would take.

"Good," said Uchiha Madara. "We value fighters in this family."

His words were a mockery of her brave face, and she clenched her fists, trying to embed the glass deeper into her flesh, trying to feel the physical pain to distract herself from this crazy amalgamation of terror and rage.

But then his words finally registered. We value fighters in this family.

 _We value fighters in this family._

 _…value fighters…_

 _…in this family._

 _What?_

"She would make for an interesting _sesai_ , Sasuke," said Madara, almost pleasantly. "You will have to keep her in line. But you like a challenge, don't you?"

More than a little stunned, she turned her head sideways, looked at Uchiha Sasuke as he respectfully bowed his head. "Aa."

A thousand, million questions whirled inside her head.

 _Do not talk back_. Uchiha Sasuke's words echoed in her mind. _Do not talk back. Do not talk back. Do not talk back_ —

But she _would_ because—her thoughts refused to wrap around the situation. _Sesai_. _Sesai?_ _She was_ — _Uchiha Sasuke_ , she realized, breath suddenly becoming short, _is going to marry me_.

" _No_ ," she blurted out, vehement; like the blood in her veins had suddenly caught fire. " _No!_ "

Uchiha Sasuke's head snapped towards her, eyes wide, but not wide enough, and Uchiha Madara laughed.

"Would you rather die, _On'nanoko_?"

Her gaze never wavered from Uchiha Sasuke. "Yes," she whispered, almost hissed. Because if she died, at least she would be free.

Uchiha Madara sounded absolutely delighted. "I would have granted your wish, had I not met my great granddaughter."

 _What_ , she thought, whipping her head towards Madara, glowering her hate, her resentment; sitting passively and hating herself for it. "You—you— _met_ Sarada?"

"Aa," Madara hummed. "A genuinely delightful child."

Sakura's heart was gripped suddenly with a terror so fierce and potent, she couldn't speak. _Sarada_. This mad man had _met_ Sarada. _When?_

Her head whisked back to Uchiha Sasuke and she wished she could bury him with all the accusations shooting in her mind. He didn't meet her eyes.

" _Oyabun_ ," he said decorously. "We will take our leave." His voice was taut, but not crisp.

"By all means," said Madara, and once again, Uchiha Sasuke hauled her up—but this time, she roughly shrugged out of his grip, but followed him out.

* * *

Once, when she was in grad school, she'd taken a communication skills course as an elective. For the very first presentation, she'd been assigned to critique an artwork; The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living. A person who was alive, even barely, could never grasp the concept of death, the artist had tried to emulate. But she _had_ ; she had been fully prepared to die, to scream and claw and pitch a fight—take at the very least _one_ person down with her. _She had been prepared to die_. Her mind might not have grasped the concept of death, but she had prepared to _die_.

And now that she was alive, she didn't know how to grasp the concept of _living_.

"Sit," Uchiha Sasuke commanded.

She looked around the room, small and bare, but for the basic necessities; a small bed, two round side tables and a small cupboard in the corner. She kept standing just to spite him.

He sighed, in exasperation, she could tell, and she bristled, looked the other way.

He walked two steps and was suddenly standing before her. Before she could even open her mouth to say anything, he raised his hand and fear struck her heart tight once more because this man was going to strike her. Intuitively, her eyes closed tight and she recoiled, heart pounding, waiting for the hit, body inclined away to protect herself.

She heard him sigh, tiredly this time, before feeling his hands gently pushing her back. She opened her eyes, just as her bottom hit the mattress. She looked up and found him rummaging around the room, looking for something and realized that this must have been his room. Her heart still pounded in her chest, and she waited—for him to pull out some weapon, to do some deed of unforgiveable evil, but when he turned around, the only thing in his hands was a first aid kit.

Startled, she flinched away once more when he dropped down in a crouch in front of her. he opened the kit, put it aside and reached out for her hands. She resisted, but only a little and refused to let herself cry when he dabbed a cotton swab drenched with antiseptic on her open palms. She grit her teeth and finally felt the pain, sharp and searing, rising from the tips of her fingers and burning all the way to the small ridge of her palm.

After, he took out a pair of tweezers and went to work on the small shards of glass. Every time he took one out, she felt an unbearable sting. She powered through, just for a few moments forgetting to hate him.

Only when he'd wrapped both of hands in a compression bandage did she look at him. There were bags under his eyes, and by the way he was squinting, she could tell immediately that he was short sighted and in desperate need of glasses. Then she remembered that he was going to be her _otto_ , and his humanity disappeared once more.

"You let Sarada meet him," she accused, voice loose, like an elastic stretched too thin.

"Aa," he agreed, not looking at her and reached a hand into the kit again, pulled out a cotton bud and dipped it into a bottle of antiseptic. She reeled back, tamping down fear and revulsion when he reached for her face. He paused and finally looked at her, right in the eyes.

Then, "I will not hurt you."

"I know," she said, with much more conviction then she actually felt. "Why would you let Sarada meet him?"

He rolled his eyes, swatted her hand away and dabbed the bud on her cheekbone. She flinched in pain, glared at him. "Why would you—why will I be your _sesai_?"

He dipped the other end of the bud in a bottle of generic medicine and dabbed it on her cheek again. "Why would you let Sarada meet him?!" she asked again, suddenly feeling the lump lodged into her throat expand. Her voice was thick as she knocked his hand away and tried to tamp down the tears. " _Why_ would you agree to marry me? You hate me, remember? We hate each other!"

Her nose stung with the effort of keeping the tears at bay, but her lip wobbled. He completely ignored her imprecation, and pulled out a super-sized band aid, stuck it on her face, then started gathering his kit. "Rest," he commanded when he'd finally gathered his things.

"Why?" she asked again, stubborn and discontent, hanging on to her sanity by a thin thread. "Why would you—"

"Because," he snapped, angry, "my daughter loves you. And I would do anything for her. Even take _you_ as my _sesai_."

Something inside her broke. The tears started falling. She didn't blink them away. "Don't I get a say—"

"No."

She only watched as he threw the kit on the side table and strode away.

* * *

"Do not be unreasonable with her."

Uchiha Mikoto looked suitably offended. "I would _never_!"

Itachi smiled blandly, wound an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in an affectionate hug. "Have we all not been, _Haha-sama_?"

Rather than being indignant, Mikoto looked slightly aggrieved. Itachi disentangled himself and sat her down. "Look at it from her perspective—"

" _Chīsana otokonoko_ ," Uchiha Mikoto cut him off, put a hand on his cheek and smiled at him wistfully. "When did you grow up so much?"

Itachi cocked his head, looked amused. "A while ago."

Mikoto's smile was brimming with affection, tempered with sadness. "I know," she told him, "I understand. I have not been very fair—none of us have been."

"She's a good mother—a good girl."

"I know, Itachi."

"It's going to be a rough transition. Sasuke is trying his best, at the moment, but his best might not be enough. We all have to do our part."

Mikoto sighed. "She must be overwhelmed."

"She must be," Itachi agreed.

"I cannot do much—I might not _be_ much; but I promise to try my best. I will try to be her mother while she cannot reach her own."

"And that is all anyone can ask of you."

* * *

"Be kind to her."

Sarada was being discharged. Itachi had left to accompany his niece to run one last gamut of tests, to get prescriptions, to sign paperwork, to pay the bills, and Uchiha Mikoto had sat him down.

 _Be kind to her_ , she had just said. "To whom?" he asked now, even though he knew who she referred to.

"To Sarada-chan's mother," she told him gently, and before he could even open his mouth to argue, she said, "Think of it this way—can you imagine how _I_ would feel if ever, you or your brother were arrested and sentenced?"

She would play her fear to the best of her abilities—for Uchiha Mikoto was not a woman who would sit back and watch her children be damned. And, he thought, rather unwillingly, bristling at the keen logic of the situation, neither was Haruno Sakura. She had done absolutely everything that she could to keep Sarada safe and alive.

He shouldn't begrudge her that.

He couldn't _stop_ begrudging her that.

"I will try," he assured Mikoto, and even she could detect the half-hearted lilt of his tone. She sighed, put her palm on his cheek and rubbed affectionately. "That is all I will ask of you. Try to remember; she is a good mother. If Sarada- _chan_ loves her, then it is our duty to give her a chance."

Something in that statement made him silently fume. "It is _because_ of Sarada that she is alive right now."

"And it makes you angry?"

"It makes me helpless." Which she knew was the same thing to him. "So I will marry her, and regret the time and distance that she put between my daughter and I—the time and distance I put between my daughter and I."

Mikoto didn't say anything to that.

* * *

The ride back to the Estate was a silent and tense one. Itachi drove, Mikoto sat shotgun and in the back seat, Sarada snuggled into the crook of his arm, looking slightly wilted. Sasuke held her close, occasionally ran his hand through her hair, tried to be a Papa.

When they reached their wing of the Estate, Sarada immediately asked for her mother. He complied, took her inside, down the _engawa_ , to his room. With his fingertips on the edge of the _shouji_ , he hesitated.

"Is she in there?" Sarada asked.

She was. She was also beat up, bloody and bruised. He was pretty sure Sarada was not used to her Mama being beat up, bloody and bruised. Without meeting her eyes, he put her down. She came up to just below his hip; tiny and perfect. He turned and crouched down before her, faltered a little at her expectant expression. "Your Mama—" he started, stopped. What could be a sensible way to make her understand this situation, he wondered. "She's—hurt."

Instantly, Sarada's lips curled down, eyes went wide. "But you promised! You said you won't let her get hurt."

The lights behind the door didn't switch on, so he could only assume Haruno Sakura was passed out. There were guards stationed around every wing—she wouldn't have been able to escape even if she'd had tried. He took a deep breath, lowered his eyes in shame. "I'm sorry. I wasn't there."

Her brow was furrowed. There were accusations in her eyes. "But—she—"

"She is alright," he quickly reassured her. "She just needs her daughter."

A beat passed as Sarada stared at him, gauged him; then with a wobbly voice, she asked, "Will you still marry her?"

He exhaled, felt the weight of her words. _Will you still keep her safe?_ "Aa."

She nodded, and he stood up and opened the door for her. He held her hand as they stepped in, and as he switched on the light, they both saw Haruno Sakura, prone and breathing gently at the very edge of the bed. Sarada didn't jump up to be by her side; instead, she slowly walked in, leading him by his hand, and lightly climbed over the bed. Haruno Sakura did not stir, but he saw when Sarada's eyes watered—when she saw the angry looking bump on her mother's head, when she touched the band aid on her mother's cheek, the blunt edges of her chopped up hair, when she gingerly touched her mother's hands wrapped up in a bundle of white, compressive gauze.

"Pa— _pa_ ," she looked at him, a thousand laments in her eyes. And he could do nothing, could say nothing, except sit beside them, in a sad mockery of a family, as Sarada settled herself in her mother's embrace.

 _Be kind to her_ , Uchiha Mikoto had commanded him.

But sitting there beside his terrified daughter, watching her battered body, how could he have been anything else?

An icebound wall, on the very edge of his heart, thawed slightly just as the knot of tension inside his chest tightened imperceptibly. He stood up, took out the comforter from under her feet and splayed it over them, tucked them both in.

Then he switched off the lights and walked away.

* * *

 _tbc_

 _It's my birthday, and since opening a new review like getting a present, don't forget to leave lots. :)_


	11. Chapter 11

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _I am a raging sea, trapped inside of a raindrop._

* * *

Something inside her heart had patched up a little when she'd woken up with Sarada snuggled up beside her—the tiniest of cracks had healed. Sarada, her conscience, her beating heart, the reason she'd made it this far, was right there in her arms. The rest of her had crumbled and been carried away by the wind.

In the few hours that had marked the end of her life and the start of another one were turning out to portray a significant difference, though; for Uchiha Mikoto sat beside her, looking uncomfortable, yet kind. Kindness was not something Sakura had ever expected to receive from Uchiha Mikoto.

"The ceremony would be held in a week," she told her gently.

Unblinkingly, Sakura stared hard at the rice paper lining the wooden frame of the _shouji_ , and startled when a gentle hand ran through her hair. Abruptly, her eyes watered, and though she had no love lost for the Uchiha Matriarch, that simple gesture of mercy, of sympathy, of _humanity,_ was enough to spurt tears into her eyes.

"Dear Heart," said Uchiha Mikoto, "I cannot even begin to understand your situation. Like my husband and sons, I was born and raised in the _gokudo_. There is no other way of life that I have known. But even I know what's happening with you is not fair."

Bewildered and slightly overwhelmed, Sakura watched as Mikoto lightly wiped the tears from under her eyes, held her face. "I seek forgiveness instead of my family—this system. And I promise that you will want for nothing."

* * *

"Mama?"

Sakura blinked, tired and lethargic, laying on her side and holding out her injured hands on the bed. The bump on her head stung.

"Mama?"

She swallowed, breathed deeply, whispered, "Yes."

"I'm sorry for being born, Mama."

With tears in her eyes, Sakura turned. " _Why_ would you say that, baby?"

"Because if I wasn't here, Mama and Papa would be happy."

Sakura managed to choke back a small sob, but couldn't stop the tears. Determined, she took a hold of Sarada's small shoulders and shook them lightly. "Do _not_ ," she told her firmly, "ever say something like that again."

Sarada, tenacious and steadfast, curled her lip in dissatisfaction.

" _Do not_ ," Sakura repeated, "ever apologize for your existence, Sarada! Be brave. I have raised you to be a brave, beautiful girl."

Reluctantly, her daughter nodded.

Sakura observed her for just a beat before pulling her close, holding her small frame to her body, resting her chin atop her silky head. Sarada hugged back, and when Sakura finally released her, she leaned sideways and wrapped both arms loosely around her mother's waist, again.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Don't hate Papa too much, okay."

Sakura didn't answer – she wasn't sure it was a promise she could keep.

"He's only marrying you because if he doesn't, you'll get hurt."

"I know, Sarada," she said, quiet and resentful.

* * *

That evening – nor the next, nor the next – Uchiha Sasuke did not visit his room.

For two days, Sakura lay and sat and silently cried in that wooden box, thought about ways to run away and reminded herself of Sarada – because Sarada was life and hope and love, itself; the one thing they were allowing her to keep – and, she wondered, how could she even think about running away alone.

On the eve of the third day, Uchiha Itachi visited her. His gaze lingered on her bruised temple for just a moment, and she thought she might have seen a flicker of worry behind his eyes. Then again, it also might have been unadulterated disdain. She was always mixing those two up, nowadays.

"Sarada," he said, a gentle command in his voice and Sarada rose, looked at him, questioning. "Will you please spend some time with your Papa? I think he misses you."

Sarada looked conflicted, like she wanted to go to her father, but wasn't willing to leave her Mama. Sakura appreciated that, loved that even in the face of such an impossible situation, her daughter – small and smart and beautiful – hadn't lost her head.

"I will keep your mother company, until you return," said Uchiha Itachi.

Sakura knew this was code – he wanted to talk with her without the scrutiny and judgment of a small child who barely understood the situation. Very subtly, very unwillingly, Sakura met Sarada's gaze and nodded.

Still, Sarada kept her gaze for one, two, three beats – before sliding down the bed and towards the door.

"You will find him by the _Koi_ pond," Uchiha Itachi told her, just as she slid the _shouji_ shut. He waited for her shadow to pass the _engawa_ , then turned and regarded Sakura very solemnly.

She squared her shoulders and looked right back at him stonily.

The seconds ticked by, he didn't say a word and neither did she. _What_ , she wondered, _was there to say_?

A lot, apparently, because Uchiha Itachi smiled slowly, sadly, and said, "Do not hate us too much. Do not hate Sasuke too much."

She peered at his face – his eyes – looking for a sign of defunct, of jest, of anything but that soft, vulnerable sympathy, which made her bristle. "Why should I not?" she asked quietly, angrily. "Is this essentially not the end of my life?"

"No," he answered simply. "It is just the beginning of a new one."

Fury was suddenly prickling at her shoulders. "A new one?" she asked, almost incredulously.

"Do not," he said gently, "take the notion of life too lightly, _Giri no shimai_."

Was he not preaching to the choir, Sakura wondered furiously. He was lecturing on the meaning, of the essence of life to a person who battled with death on behalf of others on a regular basis.

"You are alive," he continued, "until you no longer breathe. And you are breathing now, aren't you?"

There was suddenly a lump in her throat, the fury ebbing away, replaced by fear. "What are you implying?" she asked, lightly, trying very much in vain to be bold, confident. Sarada's words echoed in her head – _Don't hate Papa too much. He's only marrying you because if he doesn't, you'll get hurt_.

Uchiha Itachi smiled, not unkindly. "I'm implying that you're alive and essentially well. Don't give up. _Live._ "

* * *

The night was cool – an indication that it was going to be fall soon. The leaves would fall, the air would become dry, and in the bowels of _Uchiha_ , Sasuke thought, he would forever rot.

But this time, he would be dragging two completely innocent people with him – Uchiha Sarada, Haruno Sakura.

 _I should have talked to her_ , he thought, remembering the petrified horror in Haruno Sakura's eyes, the tremble in her hands – the cuts, the bruises, the blood – and somewhere in the back, a small child wailing.

He swallowed.

 _I should have talked to her first. Explained._

But Uchiha Sasuke had never been known for his rationale. He'd been a coward, a craven, a malingerer. He clenched his fist and held it to his head.

 _Be kind to her_ , his mother had advised, and he'd tipped her world upside down in turn.

"Papa…?"

He turned around. Walking down the _engawa_ , Sarada looked almost hesitant. His heart lurched – with disappointment and bitter regrets and a decision he would never be able to change. Nevertheless, the waited, and when she reached him, he stay put, ashamed and repentant. He'd promised he'd never let anyone hurt her mother – and hadn't been able to keep his word.

"Sara – " he started, meaning to lay down meaningless apologies, when she launched herself at him – flung her arms around his neck, buried her head in his neck and positively _shook_ with fear and anger and _Kami_ knew what _else_ she'd been carrying inside her heart.

Alarmed, Sasuke held her close, gently rubbed an arm down her back and waited – not entirely patient – but not probing either.

"P-Papaaa…" she sobbed, clinging tight to him, sniffling and trying, he could tell, very hard to tamp the tears.

"I'm here," he told her, holding her closer, tighter and feeling world weary enough to keel over. "I'm sorry. I'm here."

She didn't stop – not until she had no tears left, and when the storm had finally passed, she stayed in his arms, limp and exhausted.

"Papa," she croaked, "you said you wouldn't let Mama get hurt."

"I know," he said, adjusting her weight in his lap and not daring to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry."

"Apology not accepted," she quipped.

"I deserve that," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Papa?"

"Aa?"

"Please, don't make Mama unhappy," she asked, almost pleading and Sasuke felt his heart crack, just a little.

"I'm – I will try, Sarada," he answered slowly, hesitantly, not used to dealing with conversations so delicate of nature, with children so precious to his heart. "I – Your Papa is not very good at doing things right. Just – this once, please forgive him?"

She peered at him carefully, then slowly nodded, sinking back into his arms, holding on tight and strong and Sasuke – he felt a gentle sort of relief.

"Please be good to her," Sarada commanded, and he vowed to willingly oblige.

"I will. You have my word."

* * *

 _Live_.

She couldn't sleep that night. Tossed and turned and lay awake, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling in that unfamiliar room with Uchiha Itachi's words echoing in her mind – _live_. To ease away from that strange conversation, she distracted herself by finger combing Sarada's hair, tracing the contours of her face, the lines of her lips, her lids and cupping her cheeks until she felt a strange sort of calm – one that forcefully buried the rolling apprehension.

At dawn, she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

Early in the morning, Uchiha Mikoto woke her up. With gritty eyes and a throbbing head, she blinked groggily and looked around to make sense of her surroundings. " _Musume_ ," said Uchiha Mikoto, cupping her cheek gently – beneath the bandage, the cut throbbed ominously. "My husband would like to invite you to a tea ceremony."

She wasn't exactly in a position to deny, so feeling faint and wobbly, she sat up, then caught her head in her hands. It ached something fierce.

"Are you alright, dear?" asked Uchiha Mikoto, hovering tall over her.

Sakura felt too ill to be irritated or feel discombobulated by her sudden kindness, so she just nodded, swallowed the nausea climbing up her throat and started for the small bathroom by the edge of the room. Splashing her face with cool water woke her up a little, and as she finished up her business and came back to the room again, the first thing her eyes landed on was a bright, ceremonial Kimono spread at Sarada's feet – who was still sleeping.

Slowly, dazedly, her eyes pulled up to Uchiha Mikoto – she shuffled around the room, collecting small knick knacks, putting them in place, almost, Sakura thought with a sting in her conscience, like a mother. When Sakura didn't move, Mikoto finally turned to her, looking expectant, blinking innocently, as if she didn't know, didn't understand that right then, for her, even breathing was a struggle – how could she wear a _kimono_!

This was what life was going to be like now, Sakura thought bitterly – full of expectations, mostly of the kind she would feel uncomfortable complying with.

Only one time in her life had she actually worn a kimono – during the final year of high school when Ino had dragged her off to a temple – "To pray for good results, Forehead!" Ino had admonished her at the time.

Good results. What a thing of the past, she noticed; frivolous, petty, idiotic and impractical. Back then, Ino had helped her struggle into the sleeves, tied the _obi_ around her waist, pinned up the _furi_ , hemmed in the _fuki_ – she didn't know what to do now, how to get herself into those _sode-guchi_ , how to button up the _uraeri_.

Wordlessly, she picked up the silk, and turned on her heel – heading towards the bathroom again. Angrily, she stuffed her arms into the _sode-guchi_ sleeves, slapped out the _tamoto_ and tried to property match the _tomoeri_ with the _uraeri_.

She must have not done a very good job because when she finally presented herself to Uchiha Mikoto, she had to demurely hide a smile behind her hand. It wasn't malicious at all, but it made Sakura's eyes brim with tears.

She valiantly tried to blink them away, but a few slipped anyway, and before she knew it, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, softly sobbing. She missed Ino. She missed Mebuki. She missed Kizashi. She missed being Haruno Sakura – the woman who once punched out the drywall.

"Oh, Sakura-chan!" Uchiha Mikoto cried softly, and the genuine affection and familiarity in the way she'd spoken Sakura's name made her sob harder. Her shoulders shook as she tried to stifle her tears and wipe her nose away. _We're not familiar_ , she thought vehemently. _You're Uchiha! You're_ his _mother!_ Then losing steam and softening under the weight of her own hate, _You're_ Sarada's _grandmother_.

And Sarada's grandmother sat beside her quietly, tenderly pulled her into her arms and let her cry.

When she'd cried out her tears, snuffled out all the regrets and finally calmed down, Uchiha Mikoto, who'd rested her chin on top of head, lightly patted her back, finally pulled away.

She didn't judge, didn't criticize, didn't even say anything – just pulled her up and started fixing all the ways she'd worn the kimono wrong – aligned the _tomoer_ i with the _uraeri_ , tightly knotted the _eri_ , hemmed in the _fuk_ i, and finally tied the _obi_. Then out of the sleeve of her own _fur_ i, she pulled out an antique hair pin. Sakura's hair wasn't long enough to be folded into a bun, but Uchiha Mikoto sat her down and managed to pull her wild, shorn hair into a small, manageable bun.

She stuck the pin in and turned Sakura around, smiled and Sakura understood its genuity – at this moment, she wasn't _Uchiha Mikoto_ , or _Uchiha Sasuke's_ mother or even _Sarada's_ grandmother – she was Mikoto, Haruno Sakura's only friend in this hell.

"Perfect," said Mikoto, and Sakura believed her.

* * *

Only twice, she stumbled – but she made note of the pathways down which she was being led – _in case_ , she thought, and stopped herself, didn't let her mind wander any farther. From what she could tell, the Uchiha Estate was designed in the fashion of Chinese _siheyuan_ courtyard plan – an arrangement of four – _si_ – halls – _he_ – around a central yard – _yuan_. There must have been a perimeter wall enclosing all the courtyards.

Silently, she walked, listing to the soft shuffle of silk as she walked, memorizing each turn, each court yard, each well-scaped plant that passed their way. _One day_ , she thought, _I will get away_.

But today, she had to bow her head in abjection to a beloved custom, in front of a man who had once threatened to surrender retribution from her.

 _Live_ , Uchiha Itachi had said. However could she live like this, she wondered. As if sensing the darkness of her thoughts, Mikoto lightly put a hand on her arm. Not quite strengthened, but determined still, Sakura followed her all the way around several _yuan_ , down long, straight _engawa's_ to a small _washitsu_ , where Uchiha Fugaku, along with his two sons waited – she swallowed, feeling a deep seated panic start to bubble in her chest. Slowly, cautiously, as if herding a caged lion, Uchiha Mikoto led her to the _kotatsu_ and sat her down beside Uchiha Sasuke.

Her hand lingered on Sakura's shoulder as she pulled away, took her own seat beside Uchiha Fugaku.

Sakura's hand trembled; she could feel the proximity of Uchiha Sasuke, warm and human, as if he weren't like the rest of them – _monster_. She clenched her fist into a tight ball and stared stiffly, blankly, into her lap, at and through the whirling rainbow of colors etched onto the silk of her _kimono_ and absolutely refused to let any more tears fall.

"She looks wonderful, right?" asked Mikoto, Sakura guessed to the table at large, trying for a little bit of levity. No one answered, Sakura didn't look up. She was, she thought, going to be stubborn about this.

A small cough, not dainty and not gruff, and Uchiha Fugaku said, "Let us begin."

Since this room was not a _chashitsu_ , and it was still warm, Sakura assumed they were going to host a _furo_ season _chakai_. Very inconspicuously, she raised her eyes just the tiniest bit, saw the setting of the table – Mikoto was wiping the _chawan_ with a _chakin_ , and her fingers twitched with the urge to take over. It was not in her nature to be disrespectful – Mebuki had instilled her with a life time's worth of courtesy and approbabtion, as she had, in turn, into Sarada – her finger twitched again, and abruptly, without consulting her brain, her hands moved on her own and settled on Mikoto's.

She blinked, astounded and felt four sets of eyes probing her curiously. Lowering her gaze, she gently pried the hemp and the tea-bowl out of Mikoto's hands and wiped.

Not quite daring to look up, she missed the gentle smile on Itachi and Mikoto's face – the bewildered look on Sasuke's and the small, infinitesimal slack of Fugaku's authoritarian stance.

She knew what a _chanoyu_ was all about – easy communication, etiquette, a dissemination with the environment as a whole – at Sarada's age, she used to conduct elaborate ceremonies with her plastic tea set and stuffed animals, pretend to be a dignified woman of stature. Now, as her hands expertly moved over the _natsume_ , the ladle of the _chashaku_ , the hold of the _chasen_ , she felt her lip wobble again. Her nose stung with repressed tears and her eyes blurred with sustained moisture. Slowly, she blinked it away and sniffled, knowing it was against the etiquette of _Temae_.

With light, easy movements, she poured the _Matcha_ into the _chawan_ , then whirled the _chasen_ , refusing to look at anyone, until she'd poured the tea into four individual bowls. Then she slightly bowed her head and leaned back on her knees, waiting for them to take their bowls, finish their damned tea and let her _go_.

"Sasuke- _kun_ ," said Mikoto, almost probing, "Why don't you pour Sakura-chan some Matcha."

Ever compliant, Uchiha Sasuke prepared her a bowl, and hesitantly, tentatively, handed it to her.

She took it only because there was no point in denying and sipped mechanically. The bitterness sat well in her mouth, burned all the way down her chest – she took a bigger sip and imagined it was poison.

When the ceremony was complete, Uchiha Fugaku cleared his throat again. She didn't look up.

" _Giri no musume_ ," he addressed her directly. Daughter in law. Her skin crawled. She stubbornly refused to look up.

"Sakura-chan?"

Mikoto, her friend, now sounded a lot like Uchiha Mikoto, the matriarch of the _Uchiha_.

An eternity passed in silence, then, "Sakura," prodded Uchiha Sasuke. Feeling the weight of the world prickle at her shoulders, she finally looked up, defiant and angry.

Uchiha Fugaku regarded her solemnly.

"Yes," she whispered. _What else_ , she wondered, _do you want from me_?

Stoically, he asked, "Do your hands hurt?"

Bewildered, she frowned, then looked down – she'd peeled off the bandages two days ago; they'd become itchy, and had restricted her hands. The small cuts had scabbed over, but not completely healed. "No," she answered, because even if they had hurt like a thousand small deaths, she would have preferred to die instead of admitting it to any Uchiha.

Uchiha Fugaku nodded. "Good."

She waited, preparing herself to be threatened, to be imperiled, but no one said anything, and so, feeling brave and reckless, she blurted, repeating the very same words he'd so distinctly, so subtly, threatened her with, "What, no more expectations or obligations?"

No one said a word, but she could feel them sharing a three way family glance, while Uchiha Fugaku just stared at her, then replied. "It was definitely a gross exaggeration," he said, almost smiled, but Sakura knew, was _there_ , had seen it in his face; that cold calculation.

This – this tea ceremony, making her a part of his family – _this_ was _his_ way of burdening her with expectations and obligations.

* * *

That night – the last night – she sat down next to Sarada, and thought about what to say, how to make her daughter believe in her, her situation, her circumstances, the things this family was going to ask of them both.

"Sarada," she started, nervous and despairing – hanging on to her sanity by just a thread. "Sarada?"

"Mm?"

Sakura swallowed, wanting to hold her close and never let go. "Will you – will you be mad if I tried to run away?"

Sarada frowned. "But where will we go? Back home?"

 _But where will we go_ , she'd just said. _Back home?_

Except Sakura hadn't even imagined that Sarada would ever willingly leave her father. She held her breath, clarified. "I – Your Papa would have to stay here, honey."

Sarada swallowed. "I know."

 _But he would never let his daughter to just disappear_ , she thought. "Will you," she asked Sarada, building up the barest bones of a plan in her mind, "ask your Papa to take you to the mall?"

Sarada hesitated, before dipping her head in a tentative nod.

"I will not," Sakura assured her, "ever let you go, Sarada. I won't let them take you away."

"But Mama?" asked Sarada, reluctant and dubious. "Does Papa make you very unhappy?"

Sakura didn't – couldn't – answer. Instead, she smiled grimly and said, "He – If this doesn't work, I will be married to him. It could go either way. Neither will make me happy, but I would do _anything_ for _you_."

* * *

Sarada had not argued, just quietly nodded as she packed a small rucksack she'd dug out of the cupboard, let her pepper her face with kisses and held her close when she'd been ready to go away.

Bag on her back, Sakura had scooped her up and held her small frame close to her heart, prayed to _kami_ that things go her way – the _right_ way – and this battle, this _war_ , just end.

Her heart thundered as she navigated down several hallways, hoping that luck would shine down on her just this once. She made it down, three, four, five _engawa's_ , and had just turned into the sixth _roku_ when she collided into a slick, shiny coat – and inside that, a woman; tall and imposing, impassive and pierced, with a large origami rose tucked behind her ear.

"Hi," Sakura whispered, hoping to bluff her way out. "I was, uh, looking for Sasuke- _san_ ," she explained, and when the woman's gaze lingered on her rucksack, she shouldered it more confidently. "I was going to give him some clothes. I've, um, been monopolizing his room for a few d – a –ow – _ow_ – _wha_ – STOP! LET _GOO_!"

For the woman had very calmly took hold of her nose and pinched it shut. Her grip was firm and unmoving and it seemed to be a special, custom designed sort of torture because she couldn't breathe and couldn't see past the fist closed around her nose and when the woman started to drag her away she could only follow suit, trying desperately to claw the hand away.

"Let _go_!" she demanded, breathing through her mouth and feeling humiliated by the nasal tone of her voice. " _Let go_!" she screamed still.

The woman didn't listen. Even Sakura's strength, which Ino had lovingly labeled 'brutish' paled in comparison to the grip that woman had on her nose. But the doctor in her was noticing her body's reaction – how her feet were automatically stumbling behind, how her lungs were starting to ache with the exertion of talking and pleading and breathing stale air from around the woman's hand, and how her heart was now pounding very hard.

It was a subtle sort of maneuver – most people wouldn't even notice the subtle weakening of their senses.

When the woman stopped, Sakura found herself breathing hard, feeling faint and very weak.

"Sasuke," called out the woman, in a deep, rich monotone.

And up ahead, crouching down beside the _Koi_ pond on the accompanying _yuan_ , Uchiha Sasuke looked up, looked very bewildered. "Konan," he nodded at the woman, looked at Sakura.

She looked away, resentful, humiliated and suddenly angry.

"She was trying to run away," said Konan, as Sakura rubbed at her chest, trying to calm her breath and palpitating heart.

"Aa," said Uchiha Sasuke, coming towards them and even looking at him, Sakura's blood began to hum, aching to fight. She tensed when he came near, adrenaline already coursing through her blood.

"I didn't break her nose," said Konan, graciously offering Sakura's being, as if she were an object and not a human being.

Furious, Sakura lashed out a balled fist at her, and was barely able to graze her hair before Uchiha Sasuke caught her wrist, which finagled another load of angry memories of being imperiously manhandled – she drew her fist back, and in a decidedly small maneuver, stomped on his instep, tried very hard to crush it under her heel.

Konan smiled. "You're fierce. It's adorable."

Uchiha Sasuke gripped her wrist hard and spun her around. "Enough," he said, "Konan. You can go."

"Aa."

And then it was only the two of them and her blood was still humming with fight and anger, she tried to punch him again – and this time, he let her.

Shocked, she stilled and met his gaze, which was black and impassive and she decided that if he was going to let her, then she was definitely going to beat on him. So she punched him again, with all her might, right in the stomach, and he let her. She punched him again, in the chest, in the shoulder, in the solar plexus, feeling exultant each time he grunted with pain, until she breathed hard and the scabs on her hand threatened to spill over and her knuckles hurt and Uchiha Sasuke still stood tall, opposite her.

One last time, she punched him, this time, in the face – caught his lip instead and when it bled, something inside her loosened.

Uchiha Sasuke was bleeding and it made her feel vindicated.

She lowered her arms and stood just as tall and just as imperious as him.

"Better?" he asked, looking rumpled and she looked away defiantly, angrily.

Silence, as the crickets chirped, the water lapped gently in the pond and somewhere far, far away, an owl hooted.

"Can I...talk with you?" he asked, diffidently.

"If I say no, would you force me to?" she countered.

His voice was gentle. "No."

Her smile was sardonic. "Liar."

He bowed his head, almost in shame, turned to walk away, but something – maybe it was the stiffness of his shoulders, or the abject bow of his head, or even the simple act of turning away and granting her wish – _something_ made her speak. "Stop.'

He did, and slowly, turned around to face her. There was a gleam in his eyes – she didn't quite recognize that as hope yet. "What do you want to talk about?" she asked.

In response, he led her down to the edge of the pond, overlooked by a large oak tree. He sat and she stood, just to look down her nose at him.

For the longest time, he said nothing. Then, "I'm sorry."

The words felt like a sledge hammer to her chest. _I'm sorry_. _I'm sorry_. Uchiha Sasuke had just apologized. The thought was so foreign, his voice on those words, the gentle inflection of his tone, was so incredibly foreign, that her legs wobbled just a little with the weight of it.

Quietly, disbelievingly, she sat down. "You're sorry," she said, deadpan and aporetic.

He inclined his head sideways, looking almost kind, and said, "I am."

She swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very exposed, very lonely and very teary. "Why?"

"Because," he said, "I was a coward."

She nodded, because he _was_ a coward and she was here now, trapped in this house full of monsters because of him. She felt her lip wobble and had to bite on it to stop from giving in to tears. Instead, she played out the anger, felt it simmer for a second before fizzling out. _Completely drained_ , she thought, trying to summon the energy to rail at him. _I'm completely drained_.

He seemed to be taking encouragement of her temporary lack of acrimony. "I should have told you," he said.

"What?" she asked.

"That Madara would have ordered a hit on you," he answered, "had I not agreed to marry you."

 _Don't hate Papa too much_ , Sarada had said. _He's only doing it so you won't get hurt_. "Did," she ask, voice trembling, battling with a sudden bout of fear, "you tell that to Sarada?"

He wasn't hesitant as he nodded, and that seem to spark the dormant fury she'd been just trying to summon. " _You_!" she said softly, angrily, "You told my daughter that I would _die_ if you didn't marry me?"

"I," he said, sounding defensive and holding an arresting stance, "told _our_ daughter the truth! She had every right to know!"

"And yet you never mentioned it to _me_!" she snapped, amping up her fury – almost enjoying it. "Not even _once_!"

He seemed quite stumped by that, and it felt good – that Uchiha Sasuke, who'd never, not once in their short acquaintance had shied away from an argument, actually seemed at a loss. She felt, almost triumphant, then remembered that she might have won a tiny, insignificant battle, but she'd long since lost the war – tomorrow, she would be marrying him.

At that, all the fury seeped out of her again. She backed down, exhaled sharply and looked into the _koi_ pond again.

Today, Uchiha Sasuke had been almost kind to her and she'd found, if not a friend, then a sympathetic acquaintance in Uchiha Mikoto.

 _Maybe_ , she thought, almost desperately, irrationally; _maybe if I ask nicely enough, he'd let me go. They'd let me go._

 _So one last time_ , she thought. _One last time, I will try, I will beg_. "Sasuke," she said, the name rolling off of her tongue, burning small prickles on it, sounding like hatred and softness at once. She swallowed.

He looked at her, looking relatively surprised – never once in their rare time together, had she ever addressed him by name. Nevertheless, he answered, "Aa."

"Please," she said, "Please, don't do this. Please, let us go. _Please_."

He didn't sound as cruel as she wanted to imagine him as, when he denied her. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" she asked, not quite feeling the devastation, yet – but she could see it coming, the cold, crushing, disappointment of it. She'd been denied, once more.

"Because," he answered, "He will kill you."

She felt her head constrict, felt the cool trickle of dread – but she dreaded the captivity of this gilded cage even more. "Why?" she asked, "do you care?"

"Because," he answered once more, unflinchingly, unhesitatingly, "You're Sarada's mother. I will not let anyone take you from her."

"And this," she argued gently, mockingly, "is you fighting the system?"

His lips pursed and he looked away, unwilling to answer this time.

She didn't probe. Instead, she stared out into the distance, not really seeing anything at all, but feeling all the conflict; the net closing in, the figurative noose tightening around her neck and thin rope now keeping her tethered to life itself.

She remembered how, in that terrifying fit of rage and desperation, she'd been a single moment away from gutting Hidan in the abdomen, and how it had shook her enough to be so willingly compliant to go with Sasuke in the end. "Is that why you did it?" she asked. "Is that why you sent that Hidan person that day? Were you hoping he'll make me docile enough?"

He looked perplexed only for a second, before looking away, and in that small gesture, she saw the truth. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to evaporate that memory from her mind, felt her throat tighten.

"I promised Sarada," he defended, "that I would take care of you."

"Is that," she asked incredulously, "your way of taking care of me?"

"Aa," he agreed, almost defiant and she shook her head in bewildered anger at his indescribable audacity. "Are you _insane_?"

He looked at her long and hard, before slowly, deliberately saying, "Aa."

She scoffed, looked away and balled her fist, building up the courage to ram it in his gut, once more.

Silence, charged and loaded, humming with the build-up of their argument, and then she found herself asking, "If Sarada wanted a sibling, would you rape me to forcibly impregnate me in order to grant her wish?"

If before, the silence had been charged and electric, it was now still and quiet, bewildered and seething, all at once.

Then Uchiha Sasuke sneered, deriding her entire argument with that one simple gesture. "The _gokudo_ might believe in violence," he argued quietly, "and I might walk a dark path – but never," he said, " _never_ would I raise my hand at you. _Never_ ," he denoted, "will I belittle you. And _never_ ," he seethed, and she was surprised by the violence in his tone, "will I _ever_ force myself on you."

The intensity of his gaze left her slightly reeling, more than a little embarrassed and only a little bit furious.

"Then why," she retorted, "didn't you talk to me? Why did you send those people?"

"I," he started, then stopped and hesitated. "I suppose I—didn't want to be—"

"—the person who would have to break me?"

He looked away. "I told you. I'm a coward."

"And how very proud of it!" she snapped, angry once more, and shot up to storm away, remembered that she didn't yet know the way to that room – her cell, the holding cage, whatever! – and turned around to demand, "Escort me back to - my daughter!"

He stood up, and led her down several corridors, stood at her door, and as she pushed past him to reach inside, he said one last time, "I –"

"Aplogize?" she quipped, and she could tell that he knew she was bristling as she said, "Yes, you mentioned," then slammed the _shouji_ shut in his face.

* * *

\- _will see you tomorrow_ , he'd wanted to say.

Nonplussed and pricklish, he inhaled long and hard, then let out a breath in one short burst, frustrated with himself, with the annoying woman on the other side of the door, with the entire situation.

For a beat, he waited, saw her shadow moving about in the room, then turned on his heel and brusquely walked away.

Itachi was asleep when he returned to his temporary abode, and when he slid into the covers, sore and aching where she'd hit him, it hit him hard – the notion of _marriage_.

He was _marrying_ her.

Tomorrow, Haruno Sakura would become Uchiha Sasuke's _sesai_.

She would be unhappy and unwilling, but she would do it anyway.

Just as he would do it anyway.

He wondered what sort of twisted life they would lead together.

* * *

Sarada was awake when she slammed the room in Uchiha Sasuke's face.

Silent and protective, she held the covers aloft for her Mama to slide in, and when Sakura did, Sarada wrapped herself around her, just like she did when she was smaller, before the sickness and before everything after.

Sakura held her close and squeezed her eyes shut.

"It's okay, Mama," Sarada assured her.

Sakura nodded, not believing a word of it.

* * *

 _tbc_

 _668 followers, out of which, only a handful leave a review. You disappoint me, the new generation of ff._


	12. Chapter 12

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _"Why do people fear me?" Tomorrow sighed.  
"I haven't been too kind," laughed Yesterday._

* * *

Marriage.

In the very essence of its etymology, marriage was a union of two souls – it was about becoming a team. You spent the rest of your life learning about each other, and every now and then, things blew up. But the beauty of marriage was that if you picked the right person, and you loved each other, you'd always find a way to get through it.

The kicker here was, Sakura despaired, that things had blown up a long, long time ago, and there was nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – about Uchiha Sasuke that she wanted to know. There wasn't a right person, and there was no love – just a mad sort of retribution, a cruel sort of fate, and three people floating down a tide too strong to swim against.

How many times, she wondered, had she announced Time of Death for countless deceased? How many times, she wondered, had she fought against destiny to bring back the lost, no matter how obsolete? She couldn't tell. She couldn't remember.

But what she did know, was that for Haruno Sakura, the exact time she lost herself, the exact moment she became insentient inside her own body – her Time of Death – was 11:28 AM on the dot, smack in the bowels of Uchiha Estate, when her hand, numb and unwilling, shaky and boneless, sweaty and quivering, scrawled her name across the legal document.

She was Uchiha Sasuke's wife.

They were married.

* * *

The day started off with an imperceptive, uncomprehendingly slow pace. She didn't sleep all night. She couldn't sleep all night. She wanted to get up, gather Sarada in her arms and run far away. Her body ached with the need to gallop, her legs tingled with the premonition of flight, her heart pumped with the desire to sprint, to dash, to bolt it the hell out of there and never look back.

But she had already tried. She'd tried and been caught and humiliated. She'd been taken by the nose and charged like a doltish animal right toward Uchiha Sasuke. She bristled with the indignity.

So now, she lay still, while the rest of her body told her to book it. She lay, with her head buried in the crook of Sarada's neck – because it was the only safe place.

Her daughter was the only safe place.

She lay and she thought – of all that she was losing, all that she would become – and she wondered if taking her own life wouldn't be the right choice.

But it took a special sort of bravery to take that space, and Sakura was slowly realizing, that she might have been all kinds of courageous, but she would never be brave enough to take Sarada's Mama away from her.

When the first fingers of dawn shined through the _shouji_ , she pulled the covers tighter around herself, relished at the painful grittiness inside her eyes, and let the twisting and turning of her stomach, be a comfort, instead of a forewarning of misfortune.

* * *

He did sleep. And it wasn't plagued with nightmares.

It was, in fact, very peaceful; soothing in a way that only dreamscape blackness could ever be.

But in the end, right before he pried his eyes open, there was a flash of green just behind his lids – it was swift and almost desultory – but even in that fleeting second, he could feel the anger radiating from that flash. Almost like Haruno Sakura's eyes.

It took him a while to figure that one out, and he only ever did that because just as he was pulling on his _hakama_ , he caught a glance of her – a raging, furious, storm, contained in a small, human body. She walked away, led by his Mother, radiating despair

He waited – for the rage, the fury, the unbridled hatred.

And even he, himself was surprised when he felt just a humming sort of indifference – nothingness.

He just knew that from this day onward, he was going to be her husband, unwilling, reluctant and grudging. And they were going to raise Sarada, together.

Suddenly, the gaping hole of those eight years loomed down on him – of all the chances, all the opportunities that he had missed – first smile, first words, first laugh, first step – and he waited once more, for that light blanket of hate, of rancor, to settle in once more.

He waited and waited and waited. It didn't come.

What he did feel, however, was a belated urge to gouge out the bupkis from his chest, make sense of this moment, of all the moments that had led him here, to this moment, and make sense of them.

Because even he knew, that Haruno Sakura and Uchiha Sasuke could never be happy together. They – each of them – would just exist, for a child that deserved a loving, happy family.

He wanted to be a loving, happy, family.

* * *

The wedding was going to be an elaborate Shinto ceremony, Mikoto told her.

She'd donned on the kimono – detailed, ostentatious and decidedly ornate in its simplicity. She let Mikoto help her with the _uchikake_ , held still as she tied the robe intricately, laid out the delicate trail and tied the obi. Sakura listened, quiet, numb, and paralyzed with an insensate numbness that tampered with her mind, making every movement feel like she was wading through sludge, swimming through quicksand and slowly boiling in a cauldron of imperceptivity boiling water.

Her mouth worked in a smile when Sarada settled between her arms.

"You look very beautiful, Mama," she was generously informed. Sakura took a deep breath and held her close. It didn't kill of the nausea, but it did calm her heart, somewhat. Because, _this_ – Sarada – was the reason that she was doing this; signing away her life to a cheap, sleazy faction of low-life scoundrels.

She swallowed, then let go, braced her hands on the stool, and didn't say a word as Mikoto twined her hair with _kanzashi_ ornaments, a gold hairpin, the _wataboshi_. She curbed down the sickness and through the haze of the sheer cloth of her headpiece, she let Mikoto guide her to the room where she signed away her life.

* * *

The temple was on the property of the Estate. She didn't know how many people there were going to be, but judging by the procession that followed, it was quite a few. Uchiha Sasuke walked beside her, tall and imposing and impossibly _sure_ – like marrying her was something he was meant to be do, like her very existence didn't made his insides roil – like he hadn't once threatened to destroy her.

They were led up the stairs, and her legs felt incurably brittle – like they were going to snap under the weight of this ceremony, her decisions, her life. Pale and distant, she went through the motions. Three times, she sipped sake from his cup, and three times she fed him sake from hers. Sluggishly, she bowed down and received matrimonial bliss. The world around her was strangely muted; she could see the blur of people, gathered around the temple. She could hear their voices; distant and garbled. She could even feel their eyes on her – but the thing that never left her conscience was the truth of her situation. She was exactly where she'd run so hard to leave behind. The past was catching up with her and there was no way to avoid it.

She didn't know when the ceremony ended. She didn't know who helped her to the room. Only when she was being settled onto the hardwood floors of the small chamber, like a shiny trophy being displayed for appreciation, did she finally come to her senses.

"What are you doing?" she asked the young girl who was carefully flattening out the hem of her _uchikake_ like a pool of white silk. On the other side, someone was spreading out a futon. On the low height table next to it, was a basket full of aphrodisiacs.

"It's your wedding night," said the girl. Her smile was happily mischievous, like Sakura's world hadn't just crumbled to dust. "Enjoy it."

Numbly, she watched as one by one, the girls left the room, and then it was only her, in a beautiful white _kimono_ , and the demons that were unfurling like dead flowers, right in the center of her heart. Her lips were pressed together in a straight line, frozen in place by the weight of her circumstances; neither bowing up or down. Her head was stiff with the weight of all the ornaments Mikoto had so lovingly weaved into her hair, and she couldn't tell if the world was hazy because of the tears swimming in her eyes or the _wataboshi_ gently curving over her forehead.

She wanted to burn. She wanted to die. She wanted to sling Uchiha Madara in a pit full of deadly vipers.

When Sasuke slid the door shut behind him she didn't say a word. She knew the walls were literally as thin as paper. She heard the soft rustle of his _hakama_ as he settled down on the opposite side of the room.

For the longest time, there was silence; complete, utter, absolute silence. She couldn't even hear the cicadas outside. Just the soft, golden light, through the haze of her head piece, the itchiness of the tears drying on her face and then suddenly, a muffled ringing in her ears, as her brain finally caught up with her body.

She was in small room with Uchiha Sasuke, the father of her child, whom she was forced to marry on threat of murder of her family and friends. Uchiha Sasuke, who was the biggest coward this side of the universe, Uchiha Sasuke; who couldn't even stand up for his own principles, Uchiha Sasuke; with whom she was now expected to share her life, love, body and soul.

Uchiha Sasuke; who couldn't even give her the one thing she begged him for.

With dead hands and trembling fingers, she started undoing the tassels of her over robe, slid it off her shoulders and stood up in the pool of silk. Gently, she pried off the _wataboshi_ and dropped it atop the robe. Slowly, with shaky legs and wobbling lips, she met his gaze. His expression was steel; but there was a glimmer in his eye, like he was trying to reach out to her soul. _No_ , she thought desperately, suddenly hit by a wave of raging fury, _no_.

Angrily, she undid the rest of the layers of her dress and peeled them off with virtuoso fingers, until she was standing in front of him, almost bare, with fire in her eyes and death in her heart. She must have looked comical, she thought, with a flimsy under robe, head jangling with golden contraptions, face white with traditional make up. Eyes blazing with hatred.

Her legs were crisply fragile now, like ice statues forcefully bought to life as she lowered herself in front of him. "Take it," she whispered, voice laced with venom and abhor, as her hands snaked up his chest, around his shoulders and laced around his neck. "Take _everything_ ," she told him, slightly louder now, never breaking their gaze. And she meant everything she said. She wanted him to take it; take everything, so that when she lay there spent and limp, she could finally hate both him and herself in peace.

His brows were furrowed now, and his hands fisted in the futon. She wanted him to pound into her; make her everything she had ever loathed so she could look him in the eye and make him _feel_ the rock bottom she— _they_ were now falling into.

She wanted him to scream with her as they hit the very bowels of that pit.

So when he did nothing, said nothing; she pried open the front of her _juban_ so that she was almost completely bare, firmly wrestled his hand off the futon and put his fingers inside the hem of her underwear, just as he'd done all those years ago, when he'd just been a handsome man with efficient fingers and she'd been a stupid girl who'd let a measly milestone inflate her head.

"I want you to fuck me here," she kissed him on the lips, like he'd kissed her eight years ago. "And here," she whispered, as she led his hand down the center of her core. His hand was cool against the warmth of her folds, and the hatred she felt as she dripped on his fingers was a satisfaction she hadn't felt in days. She looked him right in the eye as she guided his hand farther down her panties, held firm when he tried to jerk it away and tightened her fingers on the nape of his neck when she felt like he was going to say something. Then she leaned into his face and traced the words on the shell of his ear with her lips, "and I'll even allow you to go here."

That was it; the final straw. This time, he did succeed in jerking his hand away, shuffled away from her and backed himself into the wall. His hand was trembling at his side and she saw his adams apple bob a few times before he finally managed to swallow. His lips were tugged down into a furious scowl. He was livid.

Her heart pounded hollowly as he reached out and tugged the strings of her _juban_ closed. She sat there on her knees as he silently stood up and crossed the room, didn't turn around when she heard the rustling, didn't even flinch when he dropped the _uchikake_ around her shoulders and sat down in front of her again to wrap it more firmly around her. All this time she stared solemnly at the nail poking out of the wall behind the _futon_.

She did, however jolted in surprise when he cupped her cheeks and softly, like she was the most fragile thing in the world kissed the top of her head. His lips lingered there for one, two, three heartbeats and then he moved away and she was looking in his eyes and there were a thousand apologies swimming in his gaze. Unbidden, she burst into tears; bone jerking sobs that wracked her body and made her eyes burn and he was there; with his strong arms and iron frame to hold all the pieces of her together. She absolutely loathed him for that – for taking everything away and replacing it with this shell of a sympathy. There was a stitch in her chest, burning and burning until her lungs were on fire.

"I—I—didn't," she sobbed into his _hakama_ , clutching the lapels for dear life, "want—to marry—you!"

She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, the unsteady beating of his heart, the world weary sigh as he said, "I know. I'm sorry."

And she sobbed harder; thinking about Sarada; how her daughter was going to be raised by the likes of Madara. "I—didn't!"

"I'm sorry," he said, again and again until she felt hollowed out and empty, lying with her face against his chest, feeling the uncomfortably damp spot of tears and snot on the expensive, black silk of his _haori_ , until finally falling asleep.

* * *

For an eternity and a half, he held her close. His heart didn't palpitate, his eyes didn't burn – but nonetheless, something in his heart shriveled up, but not quite died. He didn't want to set the world on fire – he just wanted to keel over, and make everything the way it used to be, again. He didn't want to slay this woman's demons – but he didn't want her to burn in the darkest pits of hell either.

He'd been there most his life. It wasn't pretty. It was cold, miserable and malignant. It left burns and scars that never truly healed. It hardened the heart.

And this woman had a soft, malleable heart – one that she'd passed on to his daughter.

He never wanted to take that away – not from her, not from Sarada. He'd wondered if he'd feel vindication, spite or even malicious satisfaction from her pain.

He didn't.

He just felt a fettered sort of hollowness – slightly more nauseating than the multiple times he'd held the gun at an innocent and pulled the trigger. His stomach didn't roil – he was too used to that.

But his blood did curdle – not with hatred, but a bitter sort of regret.

So for an eternity and a half, he held her close, wrapped up in a bundle of white, embroidered silk, and remembered the first time he'd touched her – how she'd arched under his mouth, how she'd whimpered at his touch, how full and perfect her breast had felt in the palm of his hand, how she'd been soft and tight and snug around him.

And he remembered how, just a few hours ago, she'd tried to defile herself – to get him to defile her. how broken, he wondered, she must've been to go that far?

He breathed long and hard, trying to remember why he'd ever been drawn to her, why he hadn't been more careful, why he'd set a path for a collision course that had spiraled both their lived out of control. She breathed into his neck, and her held her closer, tighter; because she was now in a den of lions, and if he weren't careful, she wasn't going to make it.

* * *

It was a ways past dawn when he finally mustered enough strength to carry her out. Past the south-west _yuan_ , past the ceremonial tea room, past Itachi's bedroom; he walked and walked, letting the weight of her distract him from this world – his kingdom, his home, this infallible clan that he was a part of; that his daughter was now a part of.

His arm quivered. He swallowed.

Sarada would be an Uchiha now. One day, in the not-so-distant future, she would have to carry this weight – of unwavering, unbearable expectations, of taking an innocent life, of having to live with the shame, the reproach, and the guilt.

He didn't want that. He'd _never_ wanted that.

And neither, he realized with a subtle sort of dawning horror, had Haruno Sakura. His arm around her tightened imperceptibly.

His mouth ran dry.

Haruno Sakura was a wise, capable woman. She made clever, informed decisions. And there had been a sagaciousness behind her decision to keep him away from Sarada. _No_ , he thought stubbornly. _No._ that was no excuse.

He was mulish, he knew that. Uchiha Sasuke was nothing, if not stubborn.

If she'd come to him, he thought hollowly, then they could have worked together to find a solution. He would have never have abandoned her. He would've had stood by her side. He would've had hid her.

He might have had fallen in love with her.

But she hadn't, he thought with conviction. She hadn't come to him, and now they were here; trapped, with little to no choice; a sad mockery of a family.

He slid the _shouji_ open with his foot, and was startled back when a pair of wide, round, dark eyes blinked at him.

"Is – Is she okay?" Sarada asked, fearful, he interpreted with a twinge in his heart, of her Mama's wellbeing.

"She's alright. Just sleeping," he told her kindly, feeling his arms losing a battle with exhaustion. He stepped forward and Sarada scurried before him, leaping on the bed, taking the covers aside and pulling them over Sakura when he put her down.

She tucked her mother in, kind and compassionate to the bone, and the conviction he'd so stubbornly held on to earlier, withered away.

She'd kept Sarada away from him, and she'd made their daughter into this beautiful, kind-hearted, loving person, he never would've been able to raise. She'd taken a part of him and herself, and she'd raised her to be right. A good human being.

Sarada was a good human being.

He let out an exasperated, apprehensive breath, because, how on _earth_ , was he going to retain that humanity?

"Papa?" said Sarada, questioning, and innocent, climbing towards him. He didn't quite realize how she slid into his arms, into his heart, and wormed herself a home there. It had taken eight years for them to get here, to his moment, where he could be her Papa and she could be his daughter.

He held her close, and prayed to all the deities he knew of, for perseverance, for tenacity, and ran a hand through her hair. It was just a few inches below her shoulders now, thick, black and healthy. "Did you not sleep?" he asked, leaning his cheek on the top of her head.

"No," she told him. "I was too grossed out."

"Why?" he asked, just a smidge amused and a whole lot curious.

"Because," she mumbled, petulant and grousing, "I thought you were doing the sex thing with Mama."

Had Sasuke had enough breath, or enough strength, he would've choked on air. Being that as it was, he was exhausted and just glad to have his daughter in his arms. So he hid his mortification in her hair and inhaled a deep, cleansing breath.

"Did you?" she asked.

"No," he answered quickly, because he did not have it in him to have that conversation again. Very morosely, he looked at the sleeping form of Haruno Sakura and willed her to wake up. She didn't.

"Why not?"

" _Sarada_ ," he implored, chagrinned and discomfited.

"What?" asked his daughter, innocent in her depravity.

"It's not…We don't – It's not a very good topic of conversation."

"Why not?"

"Because," he groused, completely forgetting about his internal conflict about Haruno Sakura's life choices and how they could've played a role in paving a different path for them all. "It's – it's just _not_."

"Shh," Sarada admonished. "You'll wake Mama up."

Berated, he shot her a subdued look, then held her small form to his chest again. "I know. You should go to sleep, too."

"She snuggled into his arms. "Will you stay with us tonight?"

"Yes," he answered, not even hesitating, because the moment word got out that he'd slept in Itachi's room after their marriage, Madara would _know_ , that something was amiss. There would be consequences.

It was an odd feeling – having your actions reflect on the people you cared for. Sasuke didn't like it.

"Can I sleep with you?" Sarada asked.

He sighed, weary. "No. I will take the floor. You sleep with your Mama."

Perceptive as she was, Sarada didn't question him. She did, however, held him closer.

"You're good, Papa."

He wrapped her tighter in his embrace. "Only for you."

* * *

 _tbc_


	13. Chapter 13

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _She rarely collapses, but when she does, it's in the quiet form of the sky splitting in two._

* * *

For two days – exactly two days, _twenty-two_ hours – she sat, subservient, compliant and duteous. She woke with the sun, refused to let her mind wander – make breakfast, serve, eat, drink, and swallow – and tried to let her mind wrap around this charade of a life.

It was all so surreal; the picturesque rendering of each and every leaf, in each and every _yuan_ , the winding pathways, the slippery cobblestones, the antique wood, the rice paper on the _shouji_ , the perfectly symmetrical features of each member of this clan; as if they'd been artificially designed to emulate perfection. She found herself noticing the deep, sagging crevices of Uchiha Madara's wrinkles, the curve of Uchiha Mikoto's smile, the slight abjection in Uchiha Sasuke's attitude; each detail, in such clarity, as if she were examining a glass slide under a microscope. It was both awful and hypnagogic – as if her soul was out of her body, and the only way her mind could comprehend the entire situation was by magnifying every tiny little detail.

On the twenty-third hour, at exactly 1:44 AM, while lying in bed, staring unblinkingly at the translucent shadows around the room, listening to Sarada breathe, she decided that she would never again be this approbatory sycophant – that she would rather be the woman that rammed that knife into a criminal's abdomen. It made her sick, even thinking about that, but it made her even sicker, celebrating this commendatory.

 _Tomorrow_ , she decided, _I'm going to take charge_.

* * *

She didn't like to touch him very much; he knew that, respected that, and thus, maintained a solicitous distance.

What he didn't appreciate, however, was being jabbed painfully in the small of his back, at _five_ in the _fucking_ morning. Groggy, with a scowl on his face, he turned – couldn't exactly see past the dark silhouette before his eyes, and determining that there was not, probably, the sharp edge of steel jammed down his back, once again buried his head inside the covers.

"Wake up," he heard, before he felt a not-quite-searing pain, jolting up his back.

Immediately, with the fine ease of years spent on countless hours of practice, his hand shot out and caught a wrist, slender and cool. He didn't exactly tame his glower either, as he maneuvered himself up, and blinked out the blear of sleep. It wasn't until the sixth, seventh, eighth heartbeat, that he realized that this was Sakura, and that she was his wife, and she didn't like it when he touched her.

His heart suddenly sank, and he let go of her wrist – which, with a jolt, he realized that he'd been grasping quite tightly. He ignored the way she whirled the joint of her hand up and down, to shake way his touch, or the uncomfortableness, he didn't know. He focused, instead, on his surroundings; the navy blue of a slowly lightening sky, the dark of the room, the sharp pin of the floor against his back, and asked, in a raspy voice, feeling not quite blitzey, "What?"

"I'm going to enroll Sarada in school. Today," she told him imperiously.

It took his mind a few seconds to comprehend her words. Then he closed his eyes, irritated, and rubbed a hand down his face, sighed. "Aa."

He could actually feel her curbed arguments floating around in the space between them. He could make out the distinctly alert set of her features now; she'd woken him, expecting an argument, had even wanted one.

He felt very weary, very tired, again. "Is that all?"

She scrunched up her lips, frowned. "No. I – I don't know any good schools around here."

He lay down on his thin futon again, staring at the ceiling. "You can run a search. Or ask _Haha-sama_."

She floundered. "Aren't you worried that Sarada might not be well enough for a routine as strenuous as a school's?"

He closed his eyes. _Be kind to her_. He exhaled very slowly, through his nose. "I expect _you_ , as a doctor, to be a judge of that."

Silence.

Shuffling.

"Okay."

* * *

She'd woken him at the crack of dawn, expecting a challenge, and when he hadn't humored her, it had stung – in the way a particularly acidic wasp bite, stung. She'd wanted to have a comprehensive, unabridged argument about how he was a completely inept father, who was keeping his daughter away from the privilege of an effective education, how his ways – his _family's_ ways – were having an unpropitious effect on _her_ daughters education, and how did he find the absolute sangfroid to actually _sleep_ at night.

She had expected a fight.

She had prepared for a brawl.

She resented him all the more for not giving her one.

So she bristled.

Silently, she bristled, lying awake in bed, hearing the chirping of cicadas, merge into the twitter of birds. She grit her teeth, observed the dark crevices of the ancient beams that supported the roof of his room, heard his breathing slow down, become rhythmic.

She was _so_ angry, she thought. She was so, so _angry_. She wanted someone to _rage_ at. And he was refusing to be the scapegoat. Instead, he was being _considerate_ , and _cooperative_ , and –

He was her _husband_.

 _Husband_.

At the thought of that word, all the wind whooshed out of her sails. He was her _husband_ , and there was _nothing_ she would ever be able to do about it.

For a few seconds, she let her mind succumb to a deep numbness, where everything was black, every emotion was obsolete, and every thought was a free fall in the dark.

Then she made herself get out of that pit, turned to Sarada, observed her sleeping face, and vowed to be stronger – to be _better_ than her Papa.

* * *

In the end, he _did_ give her a fight – in the most spineless of ways.

When she was first summoned to the Oyabun's wing, she felt a small flutter of fear in her heart, for Uchiha Madara was a ruthless being, with thousands of ornery men at his service. Never, had she been summoned to his part of the Estate, in the few days that she'd actually been there.

Assuming every worst case scenario in her mind, she followed the meek looking serving maid to the _ima_ , from where _Oyabun_ Madara ruled his vicious empire, and when she was left alone at the _shouji_ , debated if she should just turn on her heel, walk away, and pretend it never happened, or open that door, without having to show a single shred of abjection.

There was no good way to go about this – she was never going to defer to man, who felt not an ounce of empathy for the people he'd taken lives from. If she turned away, it would be insolence, if she barged in, there was no guarantee that she would come out in one piece.

Abruptly, her breath became short; she reached out, hesitated, and was just about to turn on her heel, when he called out, "Enter."

It was a gruff, snippy command, and her feet burned with the urge to run away, and never look back. In that single moment of indecision, she hated Uchiha Sasuke for putting her in that position, much more than she'd ever hated him otherwise.

In the end, diplomacy trumped impudence, and she slid the _shouji_ open, didn't look him in the eye until she'd settled down, didn't say a word, no matter how much his gaze, shrewd, and calculating, unnerved her.

" _Magomusume_ ," he said, after a few moments of ineffectual silence. "How do you find your life in the compound?"

 _Like I'm a prisoner_ , she wanted to snap. Instead, she kept her mouth shut, and lowered her eyes, so he wouldn't see the hate in her gaze.

He chuckled. "I suppose it will take some getting used to. Fugaku tells me you're proficient in the art of _Ocha_. We must hold a ceremony one day."

She couldn't tell what he wanted, but she was sure it would not be good. And this time, she was alone – there would be no barrier of Uchiha Sasuke between her, and anything that came from across the table. So she thought it wise, to keep her mouth shut, to keep her head inclined in a fine allusion of fear, and deference.

He took a long swig from his _kiseru_ , and finally got to the point. "Sasuke tells me you want to enroll _idaina magomusume_ in school," he said, and eyes wide, brow furrowed, she finally dared meet eyes with him. Her thoughts stuttered for a moment – spreading out in a jumble of incoherency that was so fine, so complete, all she could feel was a frustrated sort of resentment.

"He – told you – " she started, stopped, closed her eyes for a second to gather her thoughts, took a deep breath, and then started again. "Yes," she said, more confident than she'd felt just a second ago. Uchiha Sasuke was the kind of father, who couldn't get his child enrolled in school without permission from his great granddaddy. It made her furious, it made her spiteful, it made her acrimonious – and it also gave her a bitter sort of _vindication_. She could now hold his incompetence over him, jeer at his ineptitude, sneer at his inadequacy. "Yes," she said once more, expecting a rebuke, a demand for retention, some chock foolery that would take root in an obsolete ancient tradition, and end in a modern day inconvenience. Her heart lifted – the darkness of _Oyabun_ Madara's chamber seemed not so overbearingly gloomy after all.

She would get a fight out of him.

She breathed a little lighter.

She almost missed it when Madara nodded, almost affably, and had to do a double take when he said, "Education is important."

It took her a second to comprehend his words. She blinked, absorbing their meaning, trying to revel in the exoneration that had lasted only a second. Very politely, she inclined her head, and asked, "Yes?"

Madara nodded. "When Itachi was _idaina magomusume_ age, he'd already started Kōkō."

"I… see," she replied, dazedly. "I…"

"My family is well educated. I take pride in that," he told her, taking a long drag from his _kiseru_ , and letting out a considerable plume of smoke.

She imagined she might have been doing quite an impersonation of a blow fish by then – completely flabbergasted, not knowing what to do, or say.

"I bought you here today, child," said Uchiha Madara, imperious and stalwart, even with his wrinkles and slouch, "not to impose my will, but to grant your wish. _Idaina magomusume_ , shall have the best education, money can buy."

And suddenly, Sakura felt like she'd lost a war – not a battle – but the _entire_ war; because for just a second, she felt like contradicting his bestowal, of not sending Sarada to school, just to spite him – and that was when she realized that, in the midst of all the ridiculous rigmarole between Sasuke, and her, she'd completely lost her path as a mother; for that thought to even appear in her heart had been an incongruity.

She closed her eyes, reveled in the blackness, and opened them again. "Thank you."

 _Oyabun_ Madara nodded, and clinked his _kiseru_ in the _tobako-bon_. She took that as a sign of dismissal, then hesitated. There was one more thing that she wanted, one more thing that Uchiha Sasuke would try to hold a hearing for, one more thing that defined what Haruno Sakura was. Feeling brave and reckless, she clasped her hands in her lap, and looked at him again. "I – I'm going to start going to the hospital, again."

Very carefully, he raised his chin.

She continued. "As you know, I am a doctor, and I'm good at what I do. So I would like to continue doing my best."

There was a small jive, in the curve of Uchiha Madara's smile, and Sakura thought that she might have pushed too far. Insolently, she kept looking at him, and maybe it was that reckless abandon, or maybe he was in an exceptionally generous mood today, but he nodded, said, "As you wish."

And for just a second, her heart inflated, because if she could get away from this place, these people, for even half a day, each day, then maybe her life wouldn't be such a gilded cage after all. He must have seen the hope, the optimism, the light elation on her face, because right then, just as she felt like she'd gained something, he said, "Granted that you work for the _rengo_."

"The – the… _rengo_?" she stuttered, deflating as suddenly as she'd dared to hope.

"Aa," said Uchiha Madara, splaying his hands on the edges of his _kotatsu_. "We own a fine institution in the downtown. You might have heard; Konoha Meddical Center."

* * *

The _Senju_ , under Tsunade's shortlived rule, had achieved greatness in the field of medicine – it was the one legit side of their business; the Pharmaceutical factories alone, would have made them billions, so it was only right that the Uchiha intervene, add their own two cents to the business, make it a cataclysm waiting to blow up.

With the mysterious disappearance of Tsunade Senju, and the very public execution of her loved ones, the _Senju_ had been completely indisposed, having no one to run their one authorized, legalized side of business. The factory had been run down, and sold off, their center had fizzled out due to oversight in budgeting, and a distinct lack of patients. Had Sakura been running that center, she thought, angrily devising imaginary backups for a situation she never could have ended up in, she would have declared the emergency a free clinic, then made off money by charging a simple, utilitarian fee for the testing unit.

She pulled out a fist full of clothes from Uchiha Sasuke's cupboard, threw them aside, and when there was a sizeable space between his side, and hers, pulled out her best office outfit – a black pencil skirt with a maroon blouse. Compared to Sasuke's immaculate, three piece suits, it looked quite shabby, which made her heart light up with a smoldering simmer.

Then she remembered how she'd thrown herself at him, how he'd completely disregarded her salacious advances without being an ounce of disrespectful. She grit her teeth, then ground them, plopped on the bed, and held her head in her hands. Uchiha Sasuke _thrived_ on disrespect; it was one of the foundations that their mutual hatred of each other was built upon. The fact that he'd actually tried to be _human_ about her circumstances made her completely, utterly furious.

It made her want to snap his head off.

So immersed was she in her murderous revelry, that it took her a minute to actually notice when he entered the room. She followed him with a heated gaze, and did not back away when he looked into her eyes – he looked sort of taken aback.

"What's this?" he asked, referring to his probably-very-expensive suits, piled up over one another in a haphazard lump.

"I don't know, Sasuke," she said, deadpan, "What _is_ this?"

And in the few seconds that it took him to understand that she was furious once again, she only stared. She could tell he was valiantly refraining from rolling his eyes, and it made the fire in her heart burn like a bonfire. Briskly, she got up, deliberately stepped on his clothes, and said very calmly, "I need to collect documents from home. We need to enroll Sarada in school."

Just as calmly, he replied. "They're in my locker. Your apartment has been put on sale."

Like a raging spitfire, she turned. "My – _you put my apartment on sale_?! With _whose_ permission?!"

He blinked, shrugged, then looked away. She inhaled a shuddery breath, felt the nerve in her temple throb, and in a moment of unbridle fury, picked up a bottle of cologne from the dresser, and there it at him. He ducked, and she clenched her fist, feeling relieved when the bottle shattered against the wood, and as he strode the two steps it took him to get to her, she slid down like a limp noodle on the bed, feeling completely drained, once more.

She didn't have the energy to scratch his eyes out when he gingerly sat by her side, but she was mindful enough to move away. The bitter, tangy fragrance of the cologne was spreading away, and her mind was clenching with the effort to not choke.

"You sicced Madara on me," she accused gently, not looking in his eyes, instead staring at the back of her hands.

"I did no such thing."

Her lip wobbled. "You _did_." _You were a coward, again_.

"I did not," he said. "I only did what needed to be done."

At that, she whipped her head around to look at him. "What needed t – are you kidding me?"

"No."

She nodded, feeling vindicated once more – because he was giving her the fight she'd been preparing for all morning; the one she thought she would never get to fight. "So," she said, "what you're saying is, you need your grandpa to sign permission slips for everything you do in your life?"

He looked just the tiniest bit frustrated, and she was surprised when she felt no joy in his dissatisfaction. Annoyed at herself, she dug the heel of her foot in the pile of his discarded clothes.

"Sakura," he said. "You're annoying."

She felt this sudden urge to rip all his hair out. She refrained. Instead, she informed him, "I'll be going back to the hospital, soon."

"I know."

She bristled. "To KU, not KMC."

He didn't say anything, as if he knew he was walking on thin ice, and needed to stay put. She didn't quite appreciate that. "What?" she mocked, "nothing to say?"

He sighed, looking haggard. "I understand."

 _I understand._

 _I understand._

As in, _he understood_. As in, he understood that she needed to defy him – _them_ – and he…what? Wasn't going to do anything about it?

She nodded, getting up, because the cologne was too strong, and making her lightheaded now.

She wasn't expecting him to catch her wrist, pull her down again. Surprised, she stared at him. He looked…conflicted.

"I understand," he repeated, "But it will not work."

 _I understand_ , he meant, _but not everyone will appreciate your defiance_.

She didn't let herself deflate, because she was Haruno Sakura, and even all alone, and backed into a corner, she was going to _try_.

"I appreciate your confidence in me," she told him, eyes suddenly brimming with tears that she refused to shed.

This time, when she stood up, he let her go.

* * *

"I don't think she understands her position," he told Itachi, sitting on the edge of the _engawa_ , trying to calm his throbbing head. His room reeked of _L'eau Serge Lutens_ , and from where he sat, he could see the very edge of her pink head, sitting next to a column, watching Sarada play – his wife and child.

He could feel Itachi observing him from the corner of his eye. "I think," he said, "she understands her position, very well, Sasuke."

Sasuke looked at him. He was smiling slightly, as if he knew something that no one else did.

"She's being stubborn, and annoying," said Sasuke, feeling discomfited.

"I think she's trying to break free, the only way she knows how," Itachi retaliated.

"She's not being smart."

"And you are?"

"I am," said Sasuke, letting all the anger, all the frustration of the last few days out, "doing the best that I can."

Itachi nodded. "I see that you are."

"I am being _kind_ to her," said Sasuke, feeling his temples prickle with exasperation. "I am _trying_ , Itachi. And she won't cooperate."

Itachi never lost his sanguine. "What do you expect her to do, Sasuke?"

He ran a hand through his hair, idling for time, trying to put himself inside her shoes, wondering how long she could survive in his world of monsters and demons. In the end, he shrugged. "She _doesn't_ understand. I _need_ her to understand," he insisted once more, because if she didn't, she was going to knock on some door that never should have been knocked on in the first place.

"I think," said Itachi, "that she wouldn't be _her_ , if she started biding to our every rule. I think, that she makes you think beyond the boundaries of _Uchiha_. I think, that you do not like that. Tell me, Sasuke; what attracted you to her in the first place, all those years ago?"

Sasuke blinked once, then looked away, discreetly observing the edge of her head. He didn't reply, because he didn't know how to. He didn't know what had attracted him to her that night, all those years ago – but he did know that Itachi was right; she made him think beyond the boundaries of Uchiha, and he didn't like to step out of the extent of his comfort zone.

"I think," said Itachi, a smile in his voice, "that you should continue to be _kind_ , to her. And I think, that she might take you places you never expected to go."

* * *

"Papa?"

He turned around. "Aa."

"Are you happy?"

Every night, he'd taken to sharing a few, quiet minutes, with Sarada. They always sat by the _koi_ pond; where she observed the fish, recounted her day, and told him things about Mama that she would like him to love. He never answered.

"Aa," he said, not telling her that he was more worried than content.

"Good," said Sarada, nodding her acquiescence.

"Are you happy?" he asked in turn, expecting a yes in turn.

"I'm happy as long as Mama, and Papa are happy," she replied, splashing her feet in the pond.

He was so taken aback by her guileless assertion, that when he was walking her back to their room, and she said, "I used to have my own room. Can I have my own room?" he couldn't exactly say 'no' as an answer.

* * *

And so, after two days of one-sided, heated arguments, where she tried to pick fights with him, and he didn't oblige her –

"I need a car!"

"You can take mine."

"I need my _own_ car!"

"You don't own one."

"I _do_ own one! It's in the garage of my apartment complex!"

His patience felt tethered by a thin, fragile thread. _Be kind to her_.

She wanted a fight. He wasn't willing to give her one.

"I'll have someone get it for you."

"I can get it for myself."

"And how will you get there?"

Cold, steely, silence.

– Sarada was enrolled in Konoha Academy, a private school located just outside the gated community the Uchiha Estate was abode in.

* * *

The next day, he woke up amidst quiet shuffling. Groggy, it took him a few minutes to gain his bearings, and when his eyes didn't immediately stick together upon blinking, he willed his mind to function again. The quiet ruffling of clothes had stopped now, and in its place was soft pattering of feet, and when he hauled himself up in a sitting position, Sakura was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting her shoes on.

She stopped when she caught his gaze, stared right into his eyes for five, six, seven heartbeats, and then shook herself away, continued zipping up her ridiculously high heels, then got up and sat herself at the dressing table.

He felt incredibly small, and piffling, sitting on the floor, staring at her back from behind – he was used to staring down on people from his considerable height, especially hers, and combined this slight disadvantage with his rumpled disposition, and nugatory placement made ire converge right in his temple. She was going to dress herself, and walk away, and he would be left sitting there on the floor, vying for an explanation that would surely never come. So, in the interest of being the better person there, he tried to curb his resentment by taking a deep breath, and asked, "What're you doing?"

She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she spritzed some perfume on her wrists, deliberately took her time in putting the bottle down, and after she'd properly arranged all the small knick knacks on the dresser, turned around to look at him once more, and said with a faint sort of flippancy, "I'm going to work."

 _She was going to work_.

 _She was going to work_ , he thought, feeling a hollow sort of irritation that he didn't quite know how to express. She was going to go back to that hospital, get herself some talking down to, and refuse to heed his warning. She was going to try, and defy Madara, even though she should know that she would never win.

She was going to do it anyway.

So when she got up, swung her purse on her shoulder, and strode out, he grabbed his car keys, and followed her out – because today, Sakura was going to fall from a very high place, and he didn't want to face Sarada, knowing that he wasn't there to catch her. He ignored the fact that she marched down the _engawa_ in her high heels; walked with shoes in a place, where even the most ferocious of beasts has walked with bare feet, and caught her wrist when she was about to take a decidedly wrong turn.

She whirled around, and he saw a burning rage in her eyes, a green spitfire waiting to topple unforgivingly. She shook her wrist free. He let it go.

She opened her mouth, maybe to yell, maybe to scream, he never got to know, because right then, he danged his car keys in front of her face, said, "I'll drive you," and suddenly, she was quite speechless.

He took advantage of that, walked past her, and felt his heart squeeze, because she'd just looked at him with such nonplussed incredulity, it made him wonder just how alone she thought she actually was. Then he reminded himself that she _was_ alone, that there was nothing, and no one in his home, that could ever be anything less than a patron for Haruno Sakura, who would be an Uchiha, only on paper, and never in blood.

It made him feel sorry for her.

It made him feel sorry for himself.

And it made him feel sorry for Sarada.

* * *

He was wearing his pajamas – a t-shirt, and pajama bottoms, and had her heart been not hammering with anxiety, and apprehension, she would have found this situation quite hilarious, maybe even poked fun at him.

As it were, the only thing she felt was a stinging awareness that the enemy was driving her to the battlefield of her choice, and because she wished to remain distinctly detached from the whole situation, she erected an icebound wall of silence to achieve that end.

When he stopped the car in front of KU's outpatient department, she didn't immediately pull out of the car, as she'd been pumping herself to do. Instead, she sat in the passenger seat for an entire minute, ignoring how his gaze bore into her the whole time, and when it felt like her heart was beating just a smidge slower than before, she carefully opened, the car door, and walked out.

For a moment, she teetered in her heels, then nodded to herself, and walked in. The administration block was just behind the main reception, and Kumadori, the deputy director, refused to accept her request for an audience.

Her heart shuttered, but her inherent stubbornness refused to let her leave. She sat in the small lobby of Kumadori's office for a better part of forty-five minutes, before Oyone, the fellow head of the Surgical Department accidentally walked in on her.

Thirty minutes of intense haggling in the cafeteria, and Sakura finally managed to wear her down. She didn't like what she heard, but she'd been expecting that from the beginning, anyways.

"Three days ago, some old man donated money for an entire Burn Unit – on the condition that you not be reinstated upon request," Oyone told her, looking miserable, and sorry. "Kumadori- _senpai_ is too ashamed to meet you."

And what could she have said to that. She sat in that chair in numb shock for fifteen minutes, after Oyone left, then hauled herself up, fully intending to march to Sarada's school, wait there until she was let off, and envelop her in a fierce hug to chase all the melancholy, all the doom away.

Right, she thought, already imagining the warmth of that hug. It would be the best kind of reward after the kind of day that she'd had. Her chest constricted painfully. She wanted to run to Ino, to Sai, but was too ashamed to think past what they'd gone through just because she'd been at their home, when Sasuke had struck. She wanted to run to her _Oka-chan_ , and _Otou-chan_ , who she hadn't heard from in weeks, but was too scared to show her face to. _What would I say_? she thought, dreading the day she'd face them again. _They were going to kill me, but then didn't? He decided to spare me for his daughter? I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment?_

But when she got to the front, the first thing she saw was Uchiha Sasuke, idling by the curb, and abruptly wondered why his care hadn't been towed away yet. Then she remembered that he was Uchiha, and that he'd probably terrorized the person who'd come to tow him, away. Wordlessly, he held the door open for her, and wordlessly, she walked into her prison again.

She didn't speak, when he started the car, and drove out. _Because_ , she thought, _what was the point?_

* * *

She looked like death warmed over – all the fierceness of the morning, seemed to have seeped out of her. It didn't sit well with him. In his mind, Haruno Sakura was wild, and feral, smiling or snarling, screaming and yelling, angry and fierce. She was ferocious, and aggressive, and relentless, and full of life.

She wasn't this sad, hopeless looking woman, who stared out the window, not saying anything.

He sighed, irritated at her for being so annoying, irritated at himself for letting her annoy him, and on a complete whim, turned the car around. She didn't ask him where they were going, didn't say a word, and he grit his teeth, because she was supposed to pick a fight, and he was supposed to be the silent one. She was the sword, and he was the whetstone. She wasn't supposed to break.

He drove, all the way to the Outpatient block of Konoha Medical Center, and parked the car in front. It took her an inordinate amount of time to figure out where they were, and when it did, he waited with bated breath, as something in her demeanor flickered – brow furrowed, lips pursed, eyes alive. _Yell_ , he thought. _Scream_. _Rage_. _Do something_.

But all she did was stare at him intensely, for half a minute, and then everything fizzled away. "I don't want to go," she said, sounding glum, and lifeless.

"I don't want you to go either," he replied, because she was the kind of person who would go in just to spite him.

Apparently, she also knew that he was egging her on, because she threw him a dirty glance, and looked out the window, at the giant billboard of KMC, looking indecicive.

"I don't want to go," she said again.

"It's your choice," he replied, because it was.

He wasn't expecting her to turn around, meet his gaze, bore into his soul, and ask, "Why?"

"Why, what?" he asked, even though he had an inkling.

"Why," she asked, "are you being so…kind, to me? Last time I checked, you wanted me to pay for all my sins against humanity." The word 'kind' seemed to have left a bad taste in her mouth, because she scrunched up her face, and scowled at him.

Better, he thought. She was coming alive. He felt relieved and responsible, annoyed and nonplussed, when he shrugged halfheartedly. "Because," he said, "you're my wife." _For better or for worse, you're now a responsibility._

"And Sarada's Mama," she added dryly, not taking his explanation quite as to heart as he would have liked.

He shrugged again, because she was right as well.

"I don't want to be your wife," she told him brusquely, eyes forward, a hand on the lock, waverin between going in just to spite him, and holding on to the last of her stubborn dignity. He wasn't sure what made her abruptly turn around, and look at him like she was about to chew her own tongue off. "I don't want to go. If I go, you win."

He studied her face, feral, and grim; almost smiled. "And yet," he said, "if you don't go, I win again. Either way, you lose."

She grimaced, bristling with the sting of his words. She did not like the odds, he could tell, and his blunt sincerity was clouding her judgment. She couldn't – wouldn't – make the choice, and as he watched her run a frustrated hand through her shorn hair, something in his heart gave – she was all alone in a world that had been rigged against her from the very beginning, with nothing to help and nowhere to go.

He decided to make it for her. "Go," he urged.

Her head whipped at him, expression defensive, and offensive at the same time. "I – "

Instinctively, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear – maybe some part of him knew that she would need a moment to compose a suitable threat, or maybe he just wanted to sneak up on her in the most underhanded of ways; either way, it seemed to have the desired effect – she was flabbergasted enough to just sit there and stare at him, indecisive about whether to punch him in the face, he assumed, or in the nuts. He took that opportunity to make his point. "You should go," he said, not unkindly, "because helping people is what you do. And there are a lot of people in there who need your help."

The inherent double standards of his speech were not lost on him, and neither her, because very deliberately; she untucked the strand of hair he'd just pushed behind her ear, and glowered at him. "Don't pretend to be conscientious. If you cared so much," she said, "you wouldn't – shouldn't …" she trailed away, voice cracking, looking away, and suddenly, he felt so wronged, because she was rendering herself the only victim, and he wanted her to realize, to _understand_ , that he was _right there with her_ ; questioning his principals, his life, his choices – his _everything_ – because she'd made the choice for both of them all those years ago.

"I did what had to be done," he said, darkly. "You'd be dead if it weren't for me."

"Don't pretend you did it out of the goodness of your heart," she admonished. "You did it so Sarada wouldn't hate you."

"Aa," he acknowledged, glowering her. "And I'm trying my best – "

"You don't get it, do you!" she cut him off. "You should have tried your best, when things hadn't gone too far!"

He was so immersed in his self-righteous indignation, that for just a second, he lost control of his mouth. "And you should have thought about the consequences before you spread your legs for me!"

Silence.

Complete, utter silence.

She stared at him with eyes brimming with tears, and he stared back, eyes wide, mouth open, wanting to take everything back, but not knowing how.

And then she was getting out of the car, and slamming the door in his face, before he could even start to comprehend that he needed to apologize. His heart sank as he watched her walk into the lobby, gait awkward and stumbling, as if she wasn't – couldn't – think straight.

With a pit in his stomach, he inhaled a shuddery breath, not having the courage to go after, and face her. So he sat in his car for a million and a half years, and willed the clock to tick back the last half hour of his life.

* * *

 _Tbc_

 _U.C my cheeseball. Fiz.j my pizza. I srsly larv you guys – if you've made it this far. ;)_


	14. Chapter 14

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're pregnant with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are built from it._

* * *

There must have been a word, Sakura wondered; a simple eight letter description for this soul withering, heart clenching ache in her chest – for the mind numbing hate coursing through her blood.

 _And you should have thought about the consequences before you spread your legs for me._

She trembled with the unfathomable force of those words, like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. Her eyes were stinging, her lips were quivering, her throat was tight with anger and resentment and words unsaid, her hands were balled into fists, but she _refused_ to cry. Blindly, she put one foot in front of the other, and pushed through the glass doors of KMC.

A kindly woman greeted her at the reception. Her smile was so sunny, and so bright, Sakura had to restrain the urge to burst into tears at her feet.

"Uchiha- _san_ ," the woman greeted, and it took her twenty seconds to comprehend that _she_ was Uchiha- _san_ , now. It made her skin crawl, and her bones ache with a mad sort of fury, but then his words echoed in her mind again.

 _And you should have thought about the consequences before you spread your legs for me._

 _Yes_ , she thought, with a simmering sort of bitterness, redirecting all that resentment and fury at herself. _Yes_ , she thought again. _I should have thought of the consequences_.

Except she'd ended up with Sarada, and Sarada was her soul, and Sakura absolutely _refused_ to believe that her daughter was anything less than the brightest part of her being. Maybe Uchiha Sasuke was comfortable delegating the word 'consequence' to Sarada, but never in her life would she settle for anything but the best for her daughter, even if she had to shed herself from her old life, and into the bowels of this new one.

She was a mother; she was _Sarada's_ mother, and she would do anything if Sarada was the consequence she had to suffer for.

"We've been waiting for you," she was told, as the woman led her down a very long, very sterile hallway. Sightlessly, Sakura followed her.

"Fugaku- _sama_ called the director himself," the woman chirped, awed by her intermittent reference, her decidedly sturdy life, and her position as the newest Uchiha matriarch, before stopping by the very end of the corridor, and holding a door open for her.

Silently, Sakura glided in, keeping all emotion bottled up, repressed, and lidded. Impassively, she heard the terms of her apparent induction into the medical staff of KMC, listened to the unfiltered praise of her achievements, and how great an addition she would be to the surgical team.

Through a haze of burning eyes and clogged up throat, she signed her contract, and when asked when if she would join at once, or the day after, she muttered a taut, "Tomorrow," and promptly took off. She'd spoken one word, and it felt like every organ inside her body was going to fall out and splat on the floor. There was a roiling ball of curdling emotions in the pit of her stomach and she wanted to puke it all out, until there was nothing left, but a fettered sort of blankness.

* * *

Hyuga Neji was a wild card. In a family that thrived on perpetual discrimination, burgeoned on bigotry, and flourished on intolerance, it was hard for a second class citizen to sit at a place where Hyuga Neji sat – in front of Sasuke, layering out the finer details of a weapons trafficking operation. Usually, Sasuke would have observed with a hawkish severity, because if any Hyuga bearing that ignominious mark on his forehead sat in the negotiating chair, meant that he was not only cunning, but also cut from an artfully manipulative cloth. It was Machiavellian at best, and shrewd at worst.

But today was not usual. His life was not usual. It had been unusual for a few months now. In a matter of days he'd acquired a wife who hated him unconditionally, and a daughter whose love was rooted intricately in the careful thawing of her mother's heart.

" _Kasai_ has been a hot bed of law enforcement activities," Neji murmured, carefully skimming over some stats.

"That is why it is perfect," Itachi reiterated. "They would not be expecting a job to happen right under their nose."

"It's reckless," said Neji.

"It's brilliant," Itachi rebuked.

Both of them looked at Sasuke for an opinion, and he tried to blanket his misery in a figurative cloud of uninhibited focus. " _Kasai_ was built specifically with law enforcement raids in mind. It is the safest place to carry out a job."

Neji silently observed him for a few beats, then worked his jaw, and slammed his file on the table. It was a delicate show of authority, and he bore it with narrowed eyes, and pursed lips. "And if this goes sideways?"

"It won't."

"If," Neji insisted darkly, "it does?"

"We will take responsibility."

And that was the end. When the details had been hashed out, blueprints been carefully studied, and hands shaken, Hyuga Neji was shown out. Unstrung, Sasuke fell back in his chair, and let his mind unravel. Blindly, he looked at the blueprints – they'd been altered to retrofit this specific deal; entire rooms, and corridors had been edited out so if ever push came to shove, no one could correctly remember the exact layout of the building.

"You seem rather glum," said Itachi, rolling up the large sheets and tucking them to the side.

Glum wasn't exactly the right word. He didn't _know_ the right word, but what he did know was that he'd been completely out of line. He'd let his mouth run without the consent of his brain, and said something so completely stolid, he was afraid he would never be able to make it right. He'd sat in the car for an eternity, debating the finer points about going after her, or not, and ended up driving away. He hadn't been able to muster the courage to face her – look in her eyes and watch that hurt unfurl into something ugly and monstrous.

"Did something happen?"

He debated about letting it slide, getting up, and getting out; not saying a word – but then he look at his brothers kind face, and something that had been long since broken inside him finally fell apart. "I – I said something," he admitted, like it was the worst crime in the world. "To Sakura."

Itachi was silent, and he took it as an invitation to continue.

"It was uncalled for."

"Of course," said Itachi, with a smile so tired, and so world weary, that Sasuke had trouble connecting that expression with disappointment. There was only once, in the time that Uchiha Sasuke had been Uchiha Itachi's _otouto_ when he'd seen that expression directed at him. It was when he'd come back from the States – it had been a metaphorical out, of sorts, and Itachi had wanted him to take it. He was coming to realize that coming back hadn't been one of his wisest decisions, because right then, watching Itachi rub the bags under his eyes, and let out a worn sigh, he wanted nothing more than to turn the clock, and be gone from this life.

"What exactly did you say?" Itachi asked, and that fettered sort of discontent was like salt in the wound. It made him angry, and suddenly, he wasn't the sole perpetrator of this disaster that had turned his life upside down in the blink of an eye. Unbidden, he was furious at Sakura, because she'd been recklessly looking for an argument that entire week, and had the gall to feel hurt when he'd finally given her one.

"It wasn't only me," he said, desperate for someone to understand; to agree. "She was – she was being annoying."

"What did you say?" Itachi asked again, frowning at his defensiveness.

"I - " he started, stopped, and felt his stomach plummet, because if didn't have the fortitude to repeat those words, then he definitely wasn't in the right, and on that realization, the sudden bout of fury instantly fizzled out.

"Sasuke," said Itachi, looking worried. "Tell me what happened."

Sasuke sighed, feeling bone weary, then looked at the beautiful drop of the false ceiling. "She was hesitating," he said, staring into the bright gold of the lights. "She was being annoying – trying to keep her morals."

"About what?"

" _Oyabun_ told her to work at the hospital," said Sasuke, slowly closing his eyes, and feeling the ache behind his lids. " _Our_ hospital."

"Ah," said Itachi, an enlightenment in his tone, as if he suddenly understood all of Sasuke's troubles, but he wasn't even close to popping that lid. So he continued. "She went to KU – got rejected. I took her to KMC. She was wavering."

He opened his eyes, leaned forward, and looked straight at Itachi, needing him to understand that he was just human, and sometimes, humans were prone to do idiotic things. "I told her to go. We fought. I told her she should have thought of the consequences before she spread her legs for me."

Several moments passed in a loaded silence – the clock ticked, the world spun, the sun shined – and Uchiha Sasuke waited for condemnation. But Itachi just leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, Sasuke…"

* * *

She found herself sitting outside Sarada's school. It was a preppy private academy with a posh, modern building – all glass ad chrome – and a ground cover of lush, green verdant. She sat on the very edge of the property, near the main gate, where she knew Sarada wouldn't miss the pink of her Mama's hair, and stared into the void. She needed someone to be on her side – she needed Ino, and Sai. She wanted to call them, to hug them, to apologize for not having been able to intercept what happened at their home. She wanted to be herself, and not this miserable person who only ever felt an inconsolable rage, an unfettered anguish, and a penchant for picking fights she would never win.

She wanted to be _Haruno Sakura_ again.

She wallowed in her disconsolate misery for three hours, and never allowed herself to shed a single tear. It was only when she felt a small shadow fall on her knees that she looked up.

"Mama?" said Sarada, looked baffled, but not unwelcoming, and her small face, and kind eyes pushed Sakura over the very edge of that precipice.

 _And you should have thought about the consequences before you spread your legs for me._

It was the echo of those words that made her jump. On nothing but pure instinct, she leaped forward and embraced Sarada, and everything she'd been feeling ever since he said that just came out in a fit of huge, hiccupping, full belly sobs. The tears kept streaming down, and no matter how much she tried to repress the carnal rage of her cries, it kept slipping out, so she stopped.

"Mama?"

She simply stopped, and all the rage and misery and heartache and desolation and loneliness came burbling out in a tsunami of tears. Sarada put her small arms around her shoulders, and Sakura gasped in some air, hiccupped, and still couldn't manage to tamp down the tears. Those words – they'd cut deep, and a part of her needed to bleed out in order to scab over again.

She didn't know how long they stayed that way, didn't know how many children saw her fall apart, didn't know how Sarada – with her small frame, and brave heart – was holding her together. She just knew that when the tears stopped, it was her daughter who taught her to put one step in front of the other, who helped her sit in the car, who held her close the entire ride to their prison, and the one who put her into bed, and squeezed herself to Mama's chest.

They lay in that bed until night fell, and didn't climb out to switch on the lights. No one disturbed them. No one invited them to dinner. No one delicately knocked on the _shouji_ and Sakura was extremely grateful. It was only her and Sarada and the darkness, and if she closed her eyes, she felt like she could pretend they were back at their apartment, just the two of them, and nothing had changed.

"Mama?" Sarada whispered, after an eternity, and this time, she found she could manage a quiet, "Yes?"

"What's wrong?" she asked, sounding scared, but brave – as if she could pick up the mountains that were holding her Mama down. In that moment, Sakura felt such unadulterated, uninhibited, wholesome kind of love that it made all the regrets, and all the heartache vanish for just an instant. She felt so grateful to be holding her, to feel her heart beat a strong, steady beat, to revel in the wholeness of her body, and she understood that if she hadn't gone to Uchiha Sasuke that day, she wouldn't have been able to hold Sarada like this ever again. But at the same time, she felt afraid; of this life – of _his_ life, of his family, of the crimes he'd committed, of the things he did to make a living.

Those two parts, she knew, would always be at war with each other. But she also knew that there was no right or wrong – just a blank canvas of infallible grey.

So she admitted the truth, because her daughter deserved nothing but verity. "I'm afraid."

A long pause, where Sakura knew she was trying to place the cards right. But instead of asking the hard question, Sarada went for a bit of levity. "Of the dark?"

There was a splendid candor in her tone, and under that brevity, Sakura knew she was trying to make Mama feel a bit better. So she pulled her closer, and nodded against her shoulder. "Yes, baby. I'm scared of the dark."

Against her chest, Sarada nodded. "Are you scared there's a monster under the bed?"

She thought of Uchiha Sasuke sleeping on the floor every night. "Yes," she whispered.

"Well," said Sarada, gentle about her coaxing, "he watches over you at night, and chases all your nightmares away."

Unlikely, she thought. More likely he slept with a _tantō_ under his pillow, to stab into someone who dared breach this prison of a sanctuary.

"And the monster in the closet?" said Sarada, "It likes the smell of your perfume, and it likes arranging your shoes."

"Oh?" she managed to croak around a tight, but genuine smile, and Sarada must have heard it in her voice because she squeezed her hand tight, tight, and tighter, before twining her hand in hers.

"And the monster behind the couch?" she continued, relieved that Mama was acting like Mama, "He eats all the crumbs and hides pennies in the cushions."

* * *

The sky was littered with stars when he finally returned home. He'd stalled for as long as he possibly could, mustering the nerve to step up and face both Sakura, and Sarada – for he knew Sarada must have known _something_ , by then; and that something might not have been quite in his favor. His suspicions were validated when he found her sitting on the edge of _engawa_ , right outside their room. It was late; she had school tomorrow – Sakura never let her stay up late on a school night, as far as he was aware.

He swallowed when she turned around – there was a world of furious aggravation in her eyes, on her face, in the rigidness of her spine, in the frown on her face. It made him wonder just how bad things were truly going to get – and it made his throat convulse with dread because this was _Sarada_ , and she was _his_ , and even that thought was so inherent, so intrinsic, and deep rooted, and indelible, and right, it made him hate the distance, the absence, the incongruity of all those years fate – and Sakura – had put between them. He didn't want to lose her, and that was the only thing that made him put one foot in front of the other, until he was standing beside her.

Silently, he lowered himself beside her, all the while bearing the brunt of her accusing gaze. He didn't allow himself to touch her, lest it set off any unwelcome alarms. He'd gone with Sakura today, to be a metaphorical pillar of support – or as close as – and ended up being the wrecking ball that had broken her foundation. He was not proud of that.

He also wasn't unmindful of her foolish one-man war, and how careless she was being with her own life.

He believed that what he was doing, was the right thing. But he was also aware that he'd crossed a line today that just might have left severe consequences.

Ready and set to defend and deliver all these arguments, he felt himself go rather speechless, when she asked, "What did you do, Papa?"

The question had been delivered with such *accusation, yet the context was so broad, he didn't know what to think, or say. Sarada continued, "You said something, didn't you?"

What was he supposed to say to that, he wondered, because he _had_ said something. So he turned away, not being able to bear the brunt of that gaze.

"Papa!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, and took a deep breath.

"How could you!? You promised you'd never hurt her!"

He had. An eternity ago, he'd held his daughter to his chest, and promised he'd never let anyone hurt her mother again.

"What did you _say_?"

He looked at his feet, unwilling to answer that question – how _could_ he?

"What did you _do_?"

 _Nothing_ , he wanted to answer. Everything.

" _Papa_!" she said, frustrated with him, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and hold her close. He knew she wouldn't allow him, so he didn't. Instead, he looked at his feet, the grass in the _yuan_ , the crabapples on the side of the _koi_ pond – anything but Sarada, and the desperation in her eyes.

She was quiet for an eon, and he could feel her gaze boring holes into his side. She was drifting away, and he didn't want her to, but he also knew that he needed to make things right before he could pull her back to him.

When she got up, he was too ashamed to look anywhere but her feet, and when she said, "I guess you really are a bad person," he could do nothing more than bow his head.

 _And you should have thought about the consequences before you spread your legs for me._

He didn't know what had made him say those exact words, but he did know that he'd gotten Sarada out of that night. She was half of him, and half of Haruno Sakura, and so, so, precious. He didn't – _couldn't_ – regret that, and right then, watching her small form disappear behind the _shouji_ , he wanted nothing more than to make things right.

* * *

She found herself scoffing the next morning. She'd woken up early, intending to drive Sarada to school, then hide out at KMC for the rest of the day. She had no desire to be in the presence of any Uchiha that day. When she'd found the floor free of bedrolls and other spreads, she'd assumed he hadn't come back the night before.

She hadn't been expecting him to laud her with a tea tray while she'd just gotten out of the bathroom. But that was exactly what had happened – in a surreal sort of slow motion, she replayed the previous minute in her mind again; she'd brushed her teeth, finished her business, run a brush through her hair, and was just closing the door behind when he'd appeared out of nowhere. In hindsight, she thought in a dazed sort of amusement, he must have been standing there for a while, waiting for her to get out. She'd only had time to blink once, do a swift double take, and draw in a quick breath before her hands had been full of a very heavy, very full, steaming breakfast tray.

For a moment, she'd been so bewildered, she hadn't known what to do, so she'd stood there like an idiot, looking at the tray, at him, at the tray again, trying to make sense of the situation, before remembering that she didn't have to. She'd hurled it in his midsection, intending for him to take hold – he had. She'd then neatly stepped around him, and continued on with business, scoffing at his audacity, remembering the sting of his words, and feeling a hollow pang in her chest. She'd taken her time to pick out her clothes, and when she'd turned around, he'd been right where she'd left him; on the edge of the room, looking battle-weary, and tired. She refused to feel sorry for him, walked past, and closed herself in the bathroom again. Furiously, she changed clothes, looked at mirror - the red in her eyes, the swollen rims of her lashes, and reminded herself to be strong, confident, and heartless.

Then she took a deep breath, applied a rosy blusher to her cheek-bones, smoothed the matching gloss over her lips, and tossed the cosmetics into her purse.

He was sitting on the bed when she walked out – the tray beside him. To the edge, Sarada slept. She allowed herself a moment to observe, didn't let their eyes meet, then pulled out a pair of shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as she could get. She pulled on a foot, strapped it around the ankle, and went for the other one.

When she finished, she looked up. Their eyes met, inadvertently. She felt a ball of sadness, and fury, and hurt whirl within her chest – couldn't find it in herself to look away.

He stared right back, looking haggard and world weary, and tired. "Eat," he said after twenty-five heartbeats.

Once again, she looked at the tray – at him, at the tray, at him, at the tray – and felt a nuclear cold replace the churning ball of emotions in her chest. "You don't need to ply me with food."

"You would do the same for an important person in your life," he replied, and it made her heart burn, and stutter at the same time. She wanted to pounce on him, rip either his heart, or his hair out. She exhaled a long breath, and refrained from doing both, not wanting to ponder on the finer points of his sheer, unadulterated, ignominious chutzpah. Instead, she pushed the tray aside, with much more force than needed – a teacup fell, clattering against its counterparts. In the wake of that resounding clatter, an uneasy silence spread – uneasy for her, at least, caught between the olive branch he was trying to dangle in his face, and the harsh verity of her common sense.

"You should leave," she told him quietly, darkly, furiously.

He did.

* * *

"Will you come pick me up, today?" Sarada asked, right as she turned the curb to her school.

"If you want me to," she answered, feeling her stomach clench painfully, remembering how she'd showed up out of the blue the day before, and how scared Sarada must still feel. "Do you want me to?" she asked, parking outside the gates, and taking off her sunglasses to look at her.

Sarada squinted at her, deliberating if something was wrong or not. She must have passed some sort of test, because she was awarded a happy half smile.

"No," she was told, and then she was out the door, running inside the gates, and laughing.

Sakura watched her go, feeling incredibly lighthearted, relieved, and grateful because just a month ago, she'd been dying, and today, she was alive. She found herself smiling as she pulled out the car, and took the road to KMC. It was short lived; her relief.

Three years ago, there had been several documented cases of child kidnapping all over Konoha. It had been a mafia of sorts, where armed denizens showed up on high speed motorbikes, snatched small children from their mothers, and eventually, when the bodies started being discovered, it was found that they were void of all organs. After a long span of three months, it was the army who had weeded out all the police officers, doctors, and staff who'd been hired to carry out the jobs.

The organs had been trafficking to _Amegakure_ , and a member of the _Uchiha-rengo_ had been caught red-handed. Due to severe public backlash, _Uchiha_ had been forced to take action, and even though it was not publically touted, Sakura was sure the illegal surgeries had been taking place in one of their hospitals – maybe even KMC.

She was loath to work in place where such atrocities were commonplace, to teach people who would use their skill not for the betterment of citizens, but to achieve goals that were a crime against humanity itself.

So when she parked her car in a spot, she couldn't bring herself to set foot inside the trendy looking building where she was supposed to work.

She spent the entire day in her car.

* * *

It continued on for an entire week. He would try to express his penitence in small, awkward gestures that she would outright refute. He understood clearly, for once where she was coming from; his words had cut deep, had been dishonorable, and uncalled for – but in that week, Sarada refused to speak with him, Mikoto shot him worried glances at dinner, and Itachi had no words of wisdom to share.

On Sunday night, Fugaku caught him sitting by the _Koi_ pond. Sasuke expected him to shoot of a disappointed gesture, say subtly biting words, or just walk away. He lingered.

Sasuke didn't know what to make of it. Uchiha Fugaku did not linger – he carried himself with staunch authority, said biting words in lilting tones, and used quietness as a strength that had broken many before – but he never lingered; unsure and hesitant.

It was so out of character, it had Sasuke climbing to his feet in alarm. " _Otou-sama_. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, Fugaku assumed his assertive militant stance – closed off, stern, and somber. "Sasuke," he said. "Take care of it."

Then he walked away.

It was so ambiguous, so ineloquent, and so obtuse, that it took him quite a few moments to figure out the context of those words. He was talking about the jilted, dinners, separate rooms, and Sarada suddenly turning closed off. Such an abstract summation of a bloody situation, he thought – just like his father.

Once again, he felt so incompetent – as if he'd turned back in time, and was that stalwart eight year old boy who just couldn't seem to please his father. He felt so frustrated, and so angry, that when he saw Haruno Sakura walking by, he couldn't help but stalk towards her, catch her by the wrist, and whirl her around. She seemed surprised, taken aback, and that moment of deer-caught-in-headlights was all he needed.

"I am _trying_ ," he said, keeping a firm restraint on his anger, trying not to let the fury take over him, "to be your husband."

She seemed to have found her footing, because she tried to shake her wrist out of his hand, narrowed her eyes, and said, "I don't need you to be. Let go."

He didn't.

"It is what it is. Make peace with it," he said, using his height, and his stature to tower over her, to make her understand that this was her place – that she needed to submit.

She scoffed. "Another consequence of me spreading my legs for you?"

He didn't let himself flinch. "Aa."

She winced, rolling her wrist harder in his grasp in an effort to draw away, and when she couldn't, turned to him again, and spat, "Then you should have thought about the consequences before you decided to stick your dick in me!"

It was so underhanded, so calculating, and so unlike Sakura, that he stilled in surprise. She worked that momentary lack of control in her favor, and shook out of his grasp. He figured he still must not have had his bearings, because his mouth, once more, worked independently off his brain. "Maybe because you were too eager."

He never saw it coming. It was straight laced, cognizant, resounding, and it made his teeth rattle – that slap. His cheek actually stung, and so did a small part of his ego.

* * *

Maybe it had been stewing the back of her mind all this time, maybe she'd spent too much time thinking about those words, but in her head, it had seemed like the perfect rebuttal. Out loud, it came out as a childish attempt at retribution. She knew that. She also knew that she should have done what she just did a long, long time ago.

But when he slowly moved his head back to face her, he bore no expression, although his lips were pursed tightly together. She felt the danger. She even saw the dark gleam in his eye, but it only added to her agitation. The palm of her hand was itching to connect with his face once more – she might even have humored that sudden intuition – but then he took a step, and suddenly she was afraid. When he reached a hand out, she was sure it was to strike her back.

She never expected him to tug her close.

She never expected him to kiss her. When his mouth covered hers, for a split second, she couldn't react. Then the second passed and she began to push his chest, but he simply slipped an arm around her back, framed one hand to her face, and held her still for the kiss. It was a bold kiss – it molded her mouth with the force of a fine-tempered anger, and refused to let the tiny sounds of protest escape from her throat. It plundered her softness, devouring the curve of her lips, and the moisture within.

It took her breath away, and robbed her of the ability to move.

But it must have taken his breath away too, and when he paused for air, she cried out in fury, "Uchiha! What do you think – ?"

He took her mouth again before she could say another word – maybe because he was just as angry as she was, and this was the only way he could express himself right then, but it was making her sway – her mind and her heart, and she had to fight that!

But this kiss was more persuasive; his mouth stroked, rather than plundered. Rather than taking as much as it could get in a short time, it explored leisurely. This second kiss was as persistent as before, but it took its force from gentleness – and that had an effect.

She stopped pushing at his chest. Her fury was suspended, overshadowed by unexpected sensation. She didn't willingly open her mouth to return the kiss, but the rigidity in her body eased. Without conscious intent, she leaned into him for support. And when he paused a second time for air, her voice was softer, less shrill.

"Don't do this, Sasuke. Ple – "

* * *

His third kiss was even more gentle, even more powerful. Somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten about giving back the sting of that slap in the most duplicitous of ways. All he could think of was how perfectly she fit in his arms, how completely they aligned, and how sweet she tasted.

Keeping one arm firmly around her back, he slid his hand along the line of her neck, moved his fingers upward into her hair, and then cupped the back of her hand and controlled her that way. His mouth caressed hers, exploring its fine nuances, coaxing a response for the sheer need to feel his kiss returned.

It came slowly – first, in the softening of her lips, then in their opening. Despite her intentions to the contrary, she must not have been able to resist, just as much as he couldn't help himself.

* * *

There was such a deliberate care in this kiss, Sakura thought absently. It was addicting, it washed away her senses, awakened her in a way she'd very rarely felt before. And beyond that, there was his body, long and firm, pressed close, taking her weight.

It didn't matter that she abhorred him. One stroke demanded another, one caress a second, until there was a yearning sort of hunger, burning in the pit of her belly, instead of that perpetual ball of rage. She wanted to kiss him, and keep kissing him until there was nothing in the universe but him, and her.

Suddenly though, he pulled back. Taking in slow, unsteady breaths, he looked down at the flush on her lips, and the moisture he'd left there. Her pulse was throbbing in her neck, and she felt dazed with desire. Abruptly, he looked very, very stunned, and she blinked, because right then, she could feel very little past the simmering heat in her belly.

She blinked once, twice, and then abruptly, Sasuke was releasing her, crossing the _roku_ in a few, long strides, and disappearing out of sight. In the wake of his departure, she didn't move. Her heart beat loudly into the stillness, seeming to screech at her for what had just happened. Slowly, she raised a hand to her mouth, and touched tentative fingers to her lips, which were very soft, warm, and moist.

She sighed, dropped down to her knees, and couldn't move for a long, long time.

* * *

 _tbc_

Thank you for all the constructive criticism. It really helps.


	15. Chapter 15

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're pregnant with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _These mountains that you're carrying, you were supposed to climb._

* * *

It had always been a mutual, silent agreement – never mention the specifics of that night; insult, affront, disparage, discredit – but never discuss. In retrospect, he hadn't exactly allowed himself to think much beyond the deprecating humiliation, and malignity of being separated from his daughter – how that daughter had actually come to _be_ , had never been actually considered. He hadn't allowed himself that luxury – because if he did, then he would have remembered all the things, all the small nuances of how he'd lost all control, all sense, and all rationale because one annoying woman with ridiculously colored haired had strolled up next to him, smiled, let him do unspeakable things to her. He would have remembered licking her pussy, he would have remembered pounding into her, would have remembered waking up the day after to an empty bed, ridiculously high heeled shoes, and an unfettered sort of longing that had stuck to him all day.

So he'd crammed all those feelings into a tiny little box, and shoved them down the inaccessible parts of his mind – compartmentalization. First priority was making it right for Sarada, and then making it right for her, and after sticking bits and pieces of their irredeemable relationship together into something recognizable, making it right for the rest of the world.

Never had he thought about making it right between the two of them.

He'd kissed her for all the wrong reasons, and somewhere along the way, he'd ended up kissing her for all the right ones, and now, when all was said and done, he didn't know what do about it – didn't know how to feel about it.

What he did know was that he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye, at least for a few hours – wouldn't be able to look at her face, and not see the flush of desire, the moisture on her lips, the glaze in her eyes.

He didn't want to remember.

He wanted to remember.

He wanted so much, to be someone other than himself, in that moment.

Conflicted, and wide awake, he spent the rest of the night sitting in the eastern _yuan_ , as far away from her as he could allow himself to get, within the bounds of _Uchiha_.

* * *

She didn't know how, the next afternoon, she ended up sitting opposite Mikoto, absently learning the art of _kintsugi_. All she knew was that she felt like she was having an out of body experience – and considering the turn her life had taken, and how she was coping with it, that was saying something. Like the previous week, she'd spent the better half of the day sitting inside her car outside KMC, staring at all the people who walked past the lot, feeling listless, yet electric at the same time – like there was an unforeseen _something_ running in her veins, that she was too scared to put a name to. She'd broken routine by getting out, and sitting on the curb just before noon, feeling like she was about to burst.

She knew why.

She didn't want to know the why.

But her mind wandered, and her breath caught every time she thought of it – the sound of her heartbeat in the stillness of her night when he'd left, the slow metamorphosis of her mind from creaking to running full force, lamenting in a daze at her for what she'd just done. Slowly, she'd raised her hand to her mouth, and touched tentative fingertips to her lips; which had been very soft, very warm, and very moist.

In that moment, she'd hated herself for being turned on by someone like Uchiha Sasuke. It wasn't right, because she didn't like him, didn't respect him, didn't even know him, and there was, therefore no future in their relationship. So she gathered up all those feelings of flutter and dazedness, boxed them up, and tried to summon on the unfiltered resentment that she'd been living on for the past few months now.

It had remained on the very periphery of her mind, just outside the reach of her metaphorical fingertips, so she'd settled on a bewildered sort of annoyance.

When she returned to the compound, Sarada hadn't returned, but Mikoto was there, sitting under the shade of the eucalyptus tree in the adjoining _yuan_. She'd smiled at Sakura – a sad, secret sort of smile – as if she knew where her life had gone wrong, but didn't know how to fix it. Silently, she'd stood up, taken Sakura's hand, and led her down to the _washitsu_ , where several broken ceramic crockery pieces had been laid out beside a bowl full of golden lacquer.

"Sit," Mikoto had told her kindly. "Will you help me put these back together?"

Carefully, Sakura examined the pieces of crockery – some of them were truly beautiful; porcelain, and painted over in blues, pinks, whites, and greens. They were all set apart – clean breaks that would show cracks even when they were pieced together with the finest of glue guns.

She didn't understand.

Mikoto smiled, kind and benevolent. "You see this?" she asked, pointing at the gold. "It's lacquer; specifically designed to put broken things back together. We call it _kintsugi_."

There was something in those words, a hidden meaning that she was meant to decipher. She refused to. "The cracks will show," she informed Mikoto, not lifeless, but definitely angry.

"Of course," she said, agreeing wholeheartedly, and taking two pieces, carefully joining them together, and painting a long, careful, deliberate line of the gold lacquer over the crack.

She didn't know why, but Mikoto's lighthearted agreement was suddenly infuriating. "What's the point of fixing something if the cracks will show?"

Carefully, Mikoto looked up, smiled. " _Mushin_."

" _Mushin_?"

"Yes," said Mikoto, still smiling gently, and putting down her brush. Her gaze was steady, stable, firm, and immoveable. It unsettled Sakura, made her insides churn. "Acceptance of change. Fate."

Sakura scoffed. "I find those words patronizing."

"Really?" asked Mikoto, not at all angry. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "How about existing within the moment; not attempting to hide the damage, but illuminating the repair?"

 _Illuminating the repair. Not attempting to hide the damage_. Those were big words – bigger ideas. They resonated. They stuck in her throat, and made her yearn.

Mikoto took advantage. "Have you heard of _wabi-sabi_ , Sakura- _chan_?"

She hadn't. "No."

"It is a world view," explained Mikoto, picking up her brushed again, gently picking up the plate, which, just a few minutes ago, had been broken, but was now held together by thin, golden lacquer; changed, yet unchanged at the same time. There was a beauty in the veins of gold than ran over those cracks – it made the plate seem war mongered, winning, triumphant – as if the porcelain had waged a war, and won.

"It is centered on the acceptance of transience, and imperfection. It is a pantheon of beauty, in all the things that make perfection, imperfect. That is what _kintsugi_ is – repairing the damage, showing off the imperfection."

Those words – they sat in her heart, made her chest clench.

"And you know the best part?" asked Mikoto mischievously, didn't wait for her to answer. "It applies to every aspect of life."

It stayed with her for a long time after – _kintsugi_ , the golden dust, the plate warriors.

* * *

By the time she returned to the room, that distinct buzzing of her thoughts had come together into a single concrete emotion – annoyance. She drew on that irritation and slowly morphed it into a pulsing sort of anger. _How dare she_ , she thought. How dare Mikoto patronize her feelings and box them into a neatly categorized form of 'giving up.' she thought about how Uchiha Sasuke had lunged at her the night before, and realized with slowly dawning horror that his actions had been the figurative equivalent of forcing himself on her.

It made her entire body prickle with fight – along with a hefty dose of self-hate. If he'd initially forced the kiss upon her, then she'd been weak enough to eventually reciprocate. Her skin crawled.

When Sarada returned, Sakura was too distracted to answer her questioning gaze. Instead, she inhaled a deep breath to calm herself, and both of them went to eat a late lunch. There was no sign of Uchiha Sasuke around the compound and half of Sakura was glad for it – she didn't know what she might have done if he showed up in front of Sarada. She wanted to believe that she was strong enough to show restraint, but after Mikoto's patronizing lecture, she wasn't exactly in the right state of mind.

She didn't know if it was fate or deliberate intervention which had Sarada safely out of reach when he finally decided to show up. All she knew was that slapping him in the face the previous night had not been enough.

She lunged.

* * *

If asked to count down the exact number of times he'd been taken off guard, Uchiha Sasuke would scoff contemptuously. In reality, that number condensed down to a single pinky of his left hand, and those weren't the best moments of his life. One of them had come at the expense of Obito Uchiha losing an eye to Hatake Kakashi of the _Senju_.

So he wasn't exactly thrilled to find the floor literally being dragged from under his feet. He'd expected Sakura to be angry – maybe bitch slap or punch-him-in-the-solar-plexus-again, angry. He'd been expecting as much. He hadn't been expecting her to be vicious.

If his heart weren't racing so fast, if his body didn't have to go into survival mode, he would have been grudgingly impressed.

As it was, the first thing she did was grab his ankles. Then she yanked. He only had time to register a pink blur before he was going down hard, hitting his shoulder on the corner of the side table. He barely had time to register the sharp sting of a pain arcing down his side before she leaped on top of him and took a swing at his face. He raised his arm in defense. Her fist connected with his forearm, a solid smash that jarred her entire person. She swung her other fist. He blocked again. She lifted her knee, intending to drive it somewhere debilitating, and the next thing they both knew, he'd heaved her off his person. She immediately relaunched herself at him.

He'd just got to his feet; she knocked him back down. There was a small kerfuffle with him trying to hold her arms away and she, trying to scratch at his face, when the _shouji_ slid open.

They both froze.

On the other side stood Sarada, wide eyed and unblinking.

They didn't move.

She didn't move, either.

Then after an eternity, very carefully, she asked, "Are you…doing something… _dirty_?"

He didn't understand. His mind was buzzing with affront and humiliation and numbness. He couldn't even comprehend the word _dirty_ or the implied meaning behind the annotation at that moment. Maybe neither did Sakura, because she was just as stunned and unmoving as him.

"I'll just…come back – later."

* * *

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't move and she couldn't breathe. Unseeingly, unmovingly, she complied when Sasuke gently pushed her off him. The silence was ripe with restraint and tension. She watched Uchiha Sasuke trying to make ends meet but all she could see was Sarada, with her wide eyes and awkward steps.

There had been hope in that posture – in the shy bent of her head, in the shifty movement of her eyes. Mama and Papa had been in a suitably compromising position. Sarada had let her imagination run wild.

Suddenly, she could see past her anger and prejudice into the wisdom behind Mikoto's _kintsugi_ today. The words repair and damage seemed to take on a life of their own. The yearning she'd curbed in those moments surfaced again.

She looked at Uchiha Sasuke.

He looked back at her.

There was a gaping chasm in between that she didn't know how to cross – didn't know if it _could_ be crossed. They'd have to build a bridge, meet halfway.

She didn't have the confidence of meeting him halfway. Because before that chasm, there was a solid rock wall of principles – _her_ principles.

Illuminating the repair, not hiding the damage – they were fine ideas, but they couldn't possibly work if the two of them weren't willing to meet each other halfway. They couldn't work if he was always trying to force himself, his family, his ideology upon her.

It couldn't work if she refused his ungracious caution.

"Leave," she whispered, and he did.

* * *

He'd wagered too big a battle this time. He'd cheated by kissing her. It had underhanded and uncalled for. She'd reciprocated by beating on him, and somewhere in between, it was Sarada that had ended up hurt.

 _Enough_ , he thought miserably. It was enough. He needed to fix this. He didn't know how to fix this – all he knew was that he couldn't possibly do it alone.

"Papa?"

He sighed, squeezed his eyes shut. "Aa?"

She sat beside him. "I…uh, were you…"

She was struggling, and by the fidgeting he could tell what it was about. He decided disillusionment was worth it.

"She's…I said something bad, Sarada." He made himself look at her. She didn't meet his gaze. "Then I did something stupid."

"Oh."

"I do not know how to fix this," he admitted, feeling ashamed of himself.

She looked almost dejected, and he wanted to lower his gaze to avoid further remittance. But he couldn't, because abruptly, she was looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite interpret – unreadable; a silent dictation of obscurity. Maybe part of it was because he was trying not to meet her eyes and part of it was him hesitating to dig too deep - he didn't want to scratch beneath the hurt. He knew there was plenty of that.

So instead of meeting her eyes, he looked at her tiny toes.

A small eternity passed before she said, "I'm still mad at you..."

He knew – he also knew he deserved it, and yet still, he felt his chest deflate. He nodded. He understood. He couldn't excuse. _I'm sorry_ , he wanted to say. _I'm sorry for being a disappointment_. _I'm sorry for being your Papa_. He swallowed the words instead - couldn't choke them out.

He didn't realize that maybe it was that passivity that came out as aggression at the wrong people. But maybe Sarada did.

"Papa..." she sighed - part aggravated part exasperated.

Involuntarily he straightened. "Aa?"

"Will you look at me?" she asked, gentle now.

He was tempted to neatly avert his gaze away but this sort of relationship - of a papa and a daughter - needed to be ironed out without bloody sacrifices and silent disappointments. So he closed his eyes for half a second and when he opened them, she was there right in front of him - tiny and fearless and perfection.

"You don't know how to fix this, do you?" She asked with all the gravity of a soul that was a million years older. In that moment, he had to wonder how his eight year old daughter had become wiser than him.

Had it been anyone else, Sasuke might have actually reeled with the force of that judgment, bristled at the sheer audacity of the person who had dared adjudicate him. As it were, he was only liberated to admit that particular defeat.

"Aa," he admitted wanting to go back in time and do everything again.

He'd all but forced himself at Sakura and even _he_ didn't have it in himself to blame her for lashing out so severely. He knew his words cut - especially when they were carved out of anger and resentment, anger and ill will – but this time, he'd crossed over some unseen boundary and was walking blindly into the unknown. He _didn't_ know how to fix this – not by himself; not in this life.

Sarada gave him a look that was part pity and all steel. "Just...be on her side. Be on _our_ side."

But there weren't just _two_ sides - there were archipelagos with each their own storms and he was a boat stuck somewhere in between. But today, there were thunderstorms in Sarada's eyes too – she'd seen her mother break, and she was doing what she could to protect.

He understood that. He respected that. He loved that part of his daughter the most – the one that was fearless enough, bold enough and unflinching enough to break Uchiha Madara's will. And the thought, _I want to_. He wanted to fix it so bad. So he swallowed all the bitterness and the uncertainty along with his pride, and asked, "How?"

She reached out then, with a small hand that caught his own, smiled like the answer was the simplest thing in the world, and said, "Talk to her."

* * *

Uchiha Sasuke having a calm, rational conversation with Haruno Sakura was a nice concept in theory - but when it came to practical application there was a chasm as wide as Konoha itself between them. It was becoming dangerous – this dance where he was always running to catch up to his mistakes, this cavort where she seemed like the villain one second and a victim the next.

It needed to stop. He needed to decide.

He knew that she went to the hospital every day. He also knew that she never made it past the curb. There was something holding her back – her fierce pride, her genuine goodness or maybe a fright she'd kept only into her heart – he didn't know. What he did know was that this – whatever broth of hate and lust they'd had brewing between them – it had to stop. He couldn't make up for all the hurt and all the rage and all the crap he'd hurled her way, but he also knew that Sarada was waiting for him to make this right.

So he whiled away from the Panopticon the next day and found himself in the parking lot of KMC. The road ahead seemed long and daunting, but he'd resigned himself to the fact that he _needed_ to walk it. He also needed to show her that he was willing to give in a few battles in order for them to win this war. All she had to do was meet him halfway.

He got out of the car, clenched his jaw and braced himself for what was to come. Every time they'd tried to find the middle ground, it had ended in a disaster, so he knew this time would have to be different.  
Sakura didn't trust him, just as he did not trust her. He supposed that neither of them were willing to take that first step. All his life Sasuke had been meticulous about building up an armor around his heart. Taking the first step was against every instinct he'd ever known. So it was jarring to be the one who had to give in. He couldn't make up for all the hurt and all the rage and all the crap he'd hurled her way, but he also knew that Sarada was waiting for him to make this right. Maybe, he thought sardonically, Sakura _was_ winning this war – the one he'd forced on the two of them.

The parking lot of KMC was a sea of sleek sedans and hampered motorbikes. The clock tower at the entrance stood tall and proud, hiding an entire plumbing system behind its brutalist facade and beneath its shade, he found Haruno Sakura, staring at the distance, looking lackluster and miserable.

He saw. His foot raised to take a step. He stopped. Suddenly all his inhibitions came alive in a flash of gold and silver, curling around his chest like a vice. He wanted to make this right but seeing her there he suddenly flashed back to every encounter that had led them both there – each moment that had gotten twisted and turned until every word had been corseted by desperation, every action cloaked by a hopeless plight. He forced himself to move – to take that step, to do the right thing.

But a lifetime of doing the wrong had been flowing through his veins since birth. In the background a siren was wailing – an ambulance was drawing near perhaps – but all he could hear was a dull ringing, all he could feel was a sudden paralysis and all he could see was _her_ , sitting in that car looking miserable. He didn't know what would have happened – if he would have approached her or if he would have bailed had the next moment not happened.

As he stood there, frozen in an incomprehensible fear she abruptly jumped up from the curb and _ran_. Like the wind she ran and startled his feet moved forward on their own. Before he knew it, he was standing by the car, staring incoherently while she bent over a woman who had fallen unconscious at the side of the curb nearby. Distantly, he noticed the pregnant belly of that woman, the child wailing by her side, a small crowd gathering around their queer looking gathering.

But he distinctly noticed how she suddenly seemed erect – as if someone has whisked a bowl full of life into her being. He watched, unmoving, as she took command of the situation, kneeled beside the woman and expertly checked her vitals. He watched as the woman seized in her arms. He watched as she didn't even hesitate to breathe oxygen into her foaming mouth, and he watched as she spouted off commands at the ER crew that had wheeled in a stretcher.

He watched, as she came alive in a single flashing moment. She was beautiful and wild, bold and strong and fierce. She was full of _life_ and – she was the woman he'd spent that night with; the woman who had shared an easy banter with him, the woman who'd danced without a care in the world, tasted sweet as sin, writhed and moaned in pleasure while he'd pounded into her. She was Haruno Sakura – the woman who'd smiled at him from across the floor that night.

His heart was suddenly thundering. He wanted to hold this moment still, trap it in a bottle and relive it again and again and again. He wanted to be Sasuke – just _Sasuke_ – a man who could just like someone without consequences, and he wanted, more than anything else in the world for her to remain like that – beautiful and vivacious and exquisite.

He watched as she helped shift the woman onto a stretcher, watched as the crowed slowly dissipated, watched as a gentle breeze blew at her hair.

And then watched as she slowly lost herself once more.

* * *

As far back as she could recall, Haruno Sakura remembered having one, solitary dream – a dream that she'd managed to realize. Once upon a time, she'd accidentally watched an open heart surgery on a cable channel when she was a young girl, and she'd never quite managed to get the anatomy of a beating heart out of her mind. Being a doctor wasn't just a part of her, it had _been_ the entirety of her until Sarada had come along. She'd lived with the cold, hard logistics of a diagnose, the meticulous work of nimble fingers stitching back ruined flesh, grafting new organs through advent in technology – those were the moments that she'd like she was _herself_ the most. So sitting outside of that hospital, watching patients go in and out of those doors and not letting herself move was not just about pride – it was like letting a chunk of her own self just sit there and rot. _Rotting away is better than being an accomplice_ , she told herself, feeling disconsolate.

She knew that the despair would slowly eat her alive if she didn't manage to break out of it. She also knew there was no way she could break out of that literal hell hole that Uchiha Sasuke called home. So she allowed herself to feel all the bits of her broken heart, and it was while she was churning in that despair that she caught sight of a woman dropping unconscious.

She didn't know if it was fate, destiny, karma, or some other way the universe was trying to convey a bit of solace, but instantly, it was as if a live wire had run through her soul. She wasn't aware of how or when, but suddenly she was out of the car, kneeling beside that woman, checking for her breathing, a pulse. There was a child almost as old as Sarada kneeling beside her, looking absolutely stricken, and closer inspection showed the pregnant belly under the woman's clothes.

For just a second, Sakura thought she'd be able to drag the woman to the ER doors, apply a few emergency procedures, break her out of the stupor – but that moment was short lived. The situation took a turn for the worse as the woman started to convulse, and it was pure, unadulterated instinct that led Sakura to perform an emergency rescue breathing procedure to get air into her lungs. There were people gather around now, and Sakura knew that the woman needed a tracheotomy as soon as possible. Her fingers itched to feel the cool hardness of a tin blade, and her heart ponded with the exhilaration of knowing she could save a life. For the first time in a while, she felt _alive_ – as if she'd broken out of that hazy dream of monsters and demons and beautiful men with vicious habits. She wanted nothing more than to put that woman on a stretcher, get her to an OR, and get her lungs breathing again – and maybe she would have, but before she could do anything, a running staff of nurses and doctors arrived with a stretcher, and wheeled the woman inside.

The crowd slowly disspated, and as she stood there alone feeling the taste of someone elses vomit in her mouth, she felt a wave of unbidden, hysterical heartbreak rock her soul. It was like she was watching the last part of herself be taken behind the walls of Uchiha, as if all that had made her full and alive was now taken away and she was nothing but a mere husk.

She wanted so badly to just survive this storm, to just swim past that ocean and get to a shore, but she knew drowning was the only option now. She thought about Sarada, and her arms felt empty without the weight of her. Dejectedly, she turned around to walk back to the car, to just turn around and go back to that cage; flying suddenly seemed like a terrible illness, but all of her thoughts cut short because there he was – Uchiha Sasuke, with his hands in his pockets, and looking just as miserable as she felt herself.

* * *

 _tbc_

 _1\. Abrupt ending; yes, I know.  
2\. Question: How do you guys see this fic ending? What do you expect to happen?_


	16. Chapter 16

**A Cornucopia of Conundrums**

 **Summary:** "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're pregnant with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _Hate has caused a lot of problems, but has not solved one yet. ~ Maya Angelou_

* * *

Yamanaka Ino was a small woman with a formidable personality. Her eyes were as sharp as a serrated knife as she gave him an angry once over. Sasuke knew it was pure, unadulterated spunk that made her take a step closer and glare him in the eyes with a hawkish severity. He was almost amused.

"Don't laugh at me," she told him darkly.

"I'm not," he assured her.

"I can see it in your eyes. You're laughing at me."

Maybe he had been. But that wasn't why he was here. Her undignified appraisal aside, he was there to lay the foundation of a bridge – one he hoped Sakura would help him build. He didn't know what the endgame was, but he desperately wanted to start the beginning. He stood at the threshold of her home; he could tell she would never willingly let him in again. He didn't want to force her. In fact, he wanted her to be on his side, but that path was so twisted and turned that he didn't know how to take the first step.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

 _Where's Sakura_ , he heard in those words.

And that was all he needed to hear.

* * *

Sakura had always been fascinated by women in love - women who shared their lives with another person, women who declared that they had a soul mate. The idea of marrying someone had never been high on her priority list, especially since Sarada. But now she _did_ have a husband - and it wasn't by choice. But she was also tired – so, so, tired of fighting a war that had no end in sight.

Unbidden, she remembered that one night, years ago, when she'd felt safe in his arms and looking at him then, standing there, looking desolate and miserable, she wanted nothing more than to turn back time – to go to a beginning where she was just a girl and he was just a boy and there was no _Uchiha_ in between. Then she shook herself out of that whimsy and sighed, wanting to just keel over and never move again.

She took a stumbling step back to the car, and was about to just brush past him when he caught her wrist. She felt numb enough to not care, and didn't even resist when he pulled her to the curb.

Only when he sat her down, kneeled in front and pulled out his wallet did she feel curious enough to look up. She watched as he produced a single, large sized bandage from the inside of his wallet, and was surprised when he plastered it onto her knee. His fingers were nimble and gentle and meticulous – not uncaring, like the last time he'd patched her hands up – and the action was kind enough to make a lump stick in her throat. For just a moment, she wanted to rip it off her knee, but that would only have been counterproductive. It would also have required her to fight a battle she was too tied to wage. So she let the bandage settle onto scrapes she never even noticed she'd acquired and wearily raised her eyes to meet his.

He looked at her and she felt her lip wobble. She could feel the tears building behind her eyes, but she could also hear the echo of his words, the anger and desperation in his kiss – but what scared her the most was that despite of that, and inspite of it, she wanted to fall into his arms and just – just rest. She wanted to feel enveloped in the warmth of someone's embrace – someone who loved her – but it was only Sasuke who sat before her, and she found her heart reaching.

It was hard to curb that feeling, but she did it anyway, then sniffled and asked, "You carry band aids in your wallet?"

One end of his lip slightly quirked up at the edge. He shrugged, then got up and sat beside her. Her breath hitched several times on a single inhale, in that way it always did before one started sobbing uncontrollably. She swallowed because she didn't want to do that – not now, not again, especially not in front of him. She tried to summon the fury, but it just sputtered out. Numbly, she recalled his words – _and you should have thought about the consequences before you spread your legs for me_. It ignited a few dying embers of ferocity deep within her soul, but when she turned to rip into him, he beat her to it.

"I – apologize," he said, stilted and unsure. She opened her mouth, felt her heart twist within her chest, felt tears prick at her eyes and couldn't speak a word.

He nodded, as if her speechlessness reaffirmed all the wrongs he'd blighted upon her. He looked into her eyes this time. "I apologize," he said again, surer and less hesitant, and her mind echoed to a few days back when he'd hauled a breakfast tray at her as justification for his terrible words. She was struck inarticulate, but her gut wrenched within her body because for so long, _so long_ , unknowingly, _unconsciously_ , inadvertently, she'd been _longing_ for those words; for someone, especially _him_ , to come and apologize to her because _god_ , she felt so wronged. _Kami, she felt, so, so wronged_. Her heart twisted painfully within her chest once more, and she gasped in a breath, looked away, tried to blink back the tears.

Once before, in that compound, he'd apologized for being a coward and promptly turned on her again. Never, _not once_ had he ever apologized for everything that had happened to her. A small pit formed in her belly. _He's apologizing_ , she thought, feeling suddenly very liberated and teary. _He's apologizing_. She wanted so hard to just cry her heart out.

"I – I shouldn't have said that," he continued, tentative once again. "And I shouldn't have kissed you like that."

His eyes were glinting, and his lips were moving and she could hear the words, but couldn't comprehend them. She wet her lips, tried to take deep breaths, failed and then looked away. _Kami_ , she thought, throat constricting, heart palpitating, eyes tearing. _I can't. I can't, anymore._ Her entire being felt electrified and numb at the same time. She clenched her fists, desperately wanting Sarada, desperately holding on to herself.

For the longest time, they sat in silence, sitting on the curb; him silently accompanying her while she looked straight ahead, refused to meet his eyes and tried to get herself under control. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to think. All she could hear in her head was his voice, apologizing again and again. Then mocking her again and again. She wanted to fall apart and be glued back together with love. Once more, she felt her heart reaching – for him. Once more, she caught herself.

She didn't know how long they sat there, but the sun was well and past its zenith when he finally said, "Come with me."

It took a moment for the words to register. Another moment for her to gather herself and speak, "What?" her voice was hoarse; the lump in her throat was a permanent thing and the tears in her eyes refused to fall.

"Come with me," he said again, sounding strange.

"Where?" she managed to whisper.

He looked deep into her eyes, and she felt…bizarre; offbeat. "Somewhere good."

She almost laughed, because where could Uchiha Sasuke's _somewhere good_ be? "My car," she said instead.

"I'll take care of it," he assured, stood up, held out a hand.

"Where?" she asked one more time, hesitating, because that's all there was left within her now; hesitation and fear.

"Just, please – come."

And there was a thread of desperate… _something_ in his voice, in his entire being, and unbidden, she found herself taking that hand, felt her heart sinking because taking that hand had always led to bad, bad things.

She felt her life lock, when his hand closed around her own.

* * *

It was like taking care of a wounded kitten. She shook; her entire body shook as he led her to his car. He could see that she wanted to let go, and he could see that it was not in a feral way that she had before. So much had happened in such a small amount of time. They were both unraveling.

She sat silent and unwinding as he drove, and he felt the weight of the entire world resting on his shoulders. His life felt like a cage with no escape, and he wondered if where he was taking her would provide some solace. He hoped to god that it would.

Silently, he drove, and twenty minutes after, when he pulled into the parking lot of a familiar apartment building, she still shook; uncomprehending. Wordlessly, he got out, went to her side and opened her door. He offered her a hand, and she stared at it listlessly, then finally took it. He helped her out, led her to the entrance, and it was in the lobby, while looking at the dirty blond mop of her friend that comprehension finally dawned on her.

He felt something in his chest loosen as she pulled away from him, and ran to Yamanaka Ino as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.

* * *

It was Ino. Ino, Ino, InoInoInoInoIno _Ino_!

Ino who loved her unconditionally, Ino who bantered with her, Ino who'd been through hell and back with her – Ino, who was her guardian angel.

Ino, who was holding her tight, tight, tighter until she couldn't breathe.

Ino, whose hair glinted golden in the lobby light.

Ino, who was whole and alive and completely alright.

The shaking that had taken her since Sasuke's apology suddenly intensified; her throat finally loosened and the tears – they finally fell. It was like a barricade had suddenly broken, and all of the thunderstorms within her had finally been set free. She found herself sobbing hysterically, gasping for breath, drowning and drowning with the occasional wisp of oxygen to keep the misery perpetual. That day, quivering in the arms of Yamanaka Ino, Sakura found herself breaking apart and finally, finally, being lovingly put together.

* * *

"Start from the beginning and leave nothing out!" Ino demanded once she'd finally ushered Sakura into her apartment and drowned her in a pool of cushy pillows and margaritas.

Sakura, who felt completely spent, didn't want to relive any of it. So she deflected. "Where's Sai? Inojin?"

"I sent them out on a daddy-baby bonding jaunt once I knew you were coming," Ino told her seriously.

Sakura straightened. "You knew I was coming?"

Ino pursed her lips. "Yes."

"Ho – when?" she asked, feeling slightly nauseous. "I-Is he threatening you, Ino-chan?"

Ino sighed and gave her a long, sad look. Then she shook her head, and said, "No. No, he talked to me like an actual, civilized human being."

Sakura didn't know what to say, because she'd never, once considered any Uchiha an actual, civilized human being – and yet, here she was. Ino settled beside her, and put a gentle arm around her shoulder. Sakura settled back in.

"Now," said Ino, her voice strong and commanding, "start from the begging and leave nothing out."

So Sakura talked. She told Ino about how he'd dragged her to the Uchiha Estate and basically forced a marriage upon her under the pretense of keeping her safe –

"So you're married to him now? As in, like, actually married?" Ino sputtered, righteously outraged and jolted.

Sakura shuddered out a shaky exhale. "Yes," she whispered. _Yes_.

"Okay, but he didn't – like, you know…?" Ino pounced at her arm, holding on tight, looking sick and very afraid.

Sakura didn't understand. "What?"

Ino looked physically ill as she asked, "Did he force himself on you?"

She wanted to laugh then, not out of amusement but out of sheer, unfathomable mania, because out of all the repulsive crimes Uchiha Sasuke had ever committed, forcing himself on her wasn't one of them. She swallowed, and in a steady voice, she told Ino, "No."

It took quite a few moments for Ino to compose herself again, and Sakura realized that she must have been expecting the absolute worst. She thought back to that night, not so long ago, where _she'd_ tried to force _herself_ on him instead – and he'd refused. How laughably ironic, she thought, that for just a few moments, the roles had been reversed. She did not tell Ino that, because she knew even Ino would have judged. In that moment, she didn't need to be judged. She felt incredibly callous and small, because for the first time, for the very first time since this had all begun, she felt a glimmer of remorse towards him. The nausea that climbed up her throat then wasn't because of Uchiha Sasuke and his reprehensible ways, it was because of Haruno Sakura and her contemptible weakness.

"Okay," said Ino after a while, exhaling a relieved breath, nodding to herself. "Okay," she said again, to reassure herself. "This is…okay."

Sakura almost smiled. She hadn't smiled in so long. Her head spun with the effort.

"What happened after?" Ino asked.

He kissed me on the head and let me cry in his arms, she thought. "Crap, Ino," she confessed instead. "Total shit storm."

"Explain."

Sakura sighed, feeling bone weary and exhausted. She looked out of the window, avoided Ino's eyes. "I tried to pick fights with him."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ino's encouraging nod. "Okay, yes, that's good. Fighting is good."

Sakura shot her an arch look, then continued. "I told him I wanted to enroll Sarada in school."

"School is good," said Ino, looking absolutely resolute.

"He took me to that psycho Madara – "

"Stop!" Ino commanded, looking dumbstruck. "Madara?" she asked slowly, enunciating each syllable. "As in psycho, crackpot Madara of the Troll Doll Mane of Shame?"

This time, Sakura did smile. That was the magic of Yamanaka Ino. She had this insane ability to find humor in the most terrible of situations. "Yes, Pig," she said, with tears in her hers, because there, sitting in the sanctuary of Ino's home, referring to Uchiha Madara as a Troll Doll seemed ineffectually hilarious. "I – I met him once before. In the beginning."

Ino was silent for a moment. "Last time I saw him on the news, he looked ancient. Will he croak soon?"

This time, Sakura managed to scoff out a laugh. "I hope so."

"No, but will he, really?" Ino asked, serious now.

Sakura inhaled deeply, feeling light for the first time in a long while. "I don't think so, Ino."

"Augh."

Sakura shook her head, feeling out of depth, out of reality, out of bounds and out of her own body. She'd gotten used to being a prisoner, she thought with bile rising up her throat. She'd slowly but surely let the impossibility of that situation get to her. Sitting with Ino felt so surreal. She didn't know how she was going to return.

"So," said Ino, looking just as despondent as Sakura felt. "What next?"

So Sakura recounted all that had happened after, how Uchiha Madara had literally paid of KU to keep her from rebelling, how she'd still tried, and how, in the end, he'd ended up calling her a whore for spending that night with him all those years ago –

" _Rat bastard!_ " Ino hissed indignantly.

Sakura agreed, not wanting to recount the rest. Because what happened next was partially his fault and no matter how much she blamed him, it was also partially hers. The fact that he'd forced himself on her still made her blood boil, and the fact that she'd eventually reciprocated made a part of her soul wither. But Ino was well-versed in the art of deciphering Haruno Sakura; she could already tell something sketchy had happened.

"Oh, Forehead," she sighed, smiling sadly. "Spill."

How did one 'spill' something so…discordant? _I am trying to be your husband_ , he'd said. _I don't need you to be_ , she had replied. And that had been the absolute truth; even though she'd gotten used to the dread and the fear, she still hadn't gotten used to being Uchiha Sasuke's wife.

"Sakura…" Ino said, brows wrinkled, tone suspicious. "Did you guys…sleep together?"

Sakura blinked; once, twice, three times – then threw her head back and exhaled a small laugh. "No," she said. "No. He – he kissed me, Ino."

Ino's brow furrowed. "Uhh…is that a good thing?"

Sakura shook her head, feeling bizarre and phantasmagorical. That moment seemed so long ago and yet close enough to touch; she could recall the touch of his lips on hers, the anger behind that kiss, the eventual care and deliberation in the way he'd worked his mouth on hers. The way she'd trembled after.

Ino gave her a knowing look. "This is so…"

"…fucked up."

"Yeah…" she said, leaning into Sakura and staring straight ahead. "What now?" she asked eventually.

It was night out, and Sakura could feel the time slipping. Soon, she'd be going back to that place, because – because they still had Sarada. She could feel the dread slipping in, though not as potent as before…

"What do I do, Ino?" she asked, feeling bone-weary again.

"You tell me, forehead," Ino replied unhelpfully.

Sakura sighed again. "I don't want to go back," she admitted.

Ino straightened herself at that. "But you have to, anyway," she said grimly.

Sakura swallowed, then closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She didn't know how she'd go back – if there'd be an escort waiting below. She didn't even know how to feel. Uchiha Sasuke has taken it upon himself to be completely, morbidly contrary. While all she saw was pure, black rage when she looked at him, she couldn't deny that he was, in his own misguided way… _trying_. She didn't know what he was trying, but it was _something_ ; something insignificant in the grand scheme of things, maybe, but at least for that single moment today, he'd put aside his intense dislike for her and taken a step.

She felt like she owed it to him to make the same effort. But any step in his direction was a step in the wrong one. She didn't want to owe him anything.

Ino seemed to have been reading the struggle on her face, because suddenly she was the golden goddess of righteousness again. "Alright, Forehead," she said, all business, like once upon a time when she'd strewn all those fellowship pamphlets on her lap when she'd been pregnant. "You need to step up!"

Sakura stared at her, utterly confused. "Uh…"

Ino nodded, as if it all made sense in her head. "Step up. Fix this shit! He – I don't know what kind of a rat bastard he his, but he bought you here today."

Sumbly, Sakura listened.

"Right?" asked Ino. "He bought you here, so he obviously wants things to be okay, right?"

Sakura couldn't answer.

Ino sighed, pumped on sanctimony now. "I _know_ you, Forehead. You're badass, but you're crumbling! You can't crumble! You have to protect Sarada so stop crumbling, okay?"

She was shaking Sakura by the shoulders now, "Stop," she said, now directly in Sakura's face, "crumbling."

Sakura finally managed to find her voice. "Pig," she said quietly. "Remember when they used to traffic child organs? Remember when everybody knew that? Remember when no one didn't anything, anyway?"

For just a fraction of a second, Ino faltered, but then she was looking at Sakura with such furious intensity that Sakura felt herself returning that unfettered glare. "What do you expect me to do, Pig?!" she asked, feeling angry all over again. That she was angry that the wrong person was not lost on her.

"I want you to stick up for yourself!" replied Ino, tone almost but not quite flagellating. "I want you to just – just, stay strong!" she sputtered, floundering for words and emotions Sakura couldn't even fathom.

She felt her own anger receding. "I'm trying…"

"Then try harder!"

"How?"

"I don't know – make allies in that place! Beat them at their own game! Just – _something_!"

Sakura almost smiled. "Ino," she started softly. "Nobody in that place wants to be my ally."

"That's not true!" said Ino, almost vehement now. "He – S-Sasuke does!"

There was nothing she could say to that, because even if she was stubborn, even if she hated the position she was in, she couldn't deny that Uchiha Mikoto had been infinitely understanding, and she couldn't deny that sitting with Ino right then was Uchiha Sasuke's olive branch. So she faltered.

Ino pounced, softening as she went, "I know this is a truly shitty situation, and wish to Kami that – that you'd get out this, but you've got to pick your battles wisely. I'm not asking you to subjugate to their will, but maybe – be subtle about your anger. Think carefully. Act even more carefully. I just want you to survive this forehead."

* * *

Sasuke sat in his car, parked directly across from the entrance to the building. It had been hours. He could feel the seconds counting down to the moment when she would walk out of there. He'd called Itachi and asked him to hold down the fort. Then he'd called his mother and asked her to care for Sarada. Then he'd waited.

Surprisingly, he didn't feel flustered or apprehensive. He didn't even feel the curdling anger in the pit f his stomach that he'd been carrying with himself for a while now. All he felt was a quiet sort of stillness, because he knew that he'd tried to do something right for Sarada. He didn't know if it would work, didn't understand what the consequences might be, but as he watched night fall and the sky darken; as he watched when she finally emerged from the building and locked eyes with him, he knew deep his bones that something had changed.

* * *

He was sitting in his car. He was waiting for her. He was waiting to take her back.

She waited for the dread to follow, to settle in the pit of her stomach.

It didn't.

Nonplused, she closed her eyes, tilted her head back and inhaled a deep breath. She didn't feel the nothingness she'd been feeling for a while either.

She opened her eyes and looked at him again; he was sliding out of the car.

She felt sad, she realized.

Looking at him stand there, hands in his pockets, alone with the dark of the night behind him; she felt so infinitely _sad_ that her heart ached. In that moment, she found herself yearning for a situation where he was just Sasuke, and she was just Sakura and their story was nothing but an ordinary fairy tale. She found herself relating the tall, lonely figure of Uchiha Sasuke with someone completely misunderstood – someone who was simultaneously as tragic as he was malicious, and just a teensy bit misconstrued.

If she were one of those girls who claimed to fall in love at first sight, she would have vowed to trigger an engaging transformation in him. If she were one of those girls who fawned at a pretty face, she would have pledged to see through to his good side. But she wasn't. She was the other kind of girl – the one who vehemently denied that the whole purpose of having assy cold-hearted boys was to see them tumbling off their high horse when they fell in love.

So she was truly surprised when she felt a tug on her heart. Very slowly, she walked to him, and her voice was strained when she asked, "Why?"

Sasuke's entire being seemed absolutely still. She could see it in his eyes; he understood what she was asking. He exhaled softly and stared at her. At length, he said, slowly, "Sakura. You were losing yourself."

She could feel her eyes brimming with tears again, but not the claustrophobia that had overcome her that afternoon. There was no lump in her throat, no electrifying numbness in her body. She just felt very calm and very sad at the same time. She found herself longing to be one-of-those-girls.

She locked eyes with him; nodded. She didn't quite forgive him, but it wasn't her forgiveness that see sought.

They were both searching for a validation. He was Uchiha Sasuke; the boy who'd been raised in the gokudo. And she was Haruno Sakura, who'd been raised to be self-righteous and compassionate to a fault. She wasn't expecting him to fall into reformed rebelliousness in the course of a few weeks. But she also knew that he wasn't expecting her to stir a revolution either.

It was a standstill, where both of them were bound together by a child they both loved very much.

Ino had told her to survive. She wasn't feeling very optimistic, but she wasn't feeling that crushing pessimism either. Maybe it was the company of Ino, or maybe it had been an intense relief from the reprieve she'd gotten out from that compound that day, but it was Sasuke who'd taken the initiative. He could have let her rot away, but he hadn't.

She found herself grateful.

When she got into the car and he took off, she didn't feel a bone jarring hatred for him, neither did she feel a terrifying repulsion.

Instead, she felt a sad sort of camaraderie.

* * *

Considering that all their past conversations had ended in either terrible verbal sparring, hateful vitriol or heated, angry kisses that devolved into something more, Sasuke felt optimistic as he sat in the _engawa_ outside his room that night. The night was crisp, cool and the air smelled of freshly mowed grass. For the first time in a very long while, his shoulders didn't prick with the weight of a thousand disappointments. Sakura was steady now. She wasn't happy, they weren't anything more than they'd ever been, but she wasn't sliding off the deep end either. He was wise enough to count that as a victory.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and wasn't quite surprised when he heard the door slide open, then close. Her footsteps were tentative, her body far enough away from his own as she sat down. But when he opened his eyes and looked at her, she wasn't radiating unfathomable fury or hatred either. She looked…uncomfortable.

Once upon a time, his mother had ordered him to be kind to her and his stomach had curdled with unbridled acrimony. Today, he felt nothing but a quiet sort of steadiness – an acceptance; of her, of him and of their unfortunate circumstances.

They sat side by side, and this time, when he tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and she instinctively lifted her hand to pull it out again, he didn't let her. For the longest moment, she stared at him, and after a prolonged moment her features softened.

He didn't let go of the fingers he'd caught, even when she tried to lightly dislodge him, and after a few tries, she didn't shake him off at all. Her hand in his own felt odd; small and peculiar, almost dainty. He knew the strength that was packed in those tiny fists; it was bruising. Every instinct in his body was telling him to let it go, to drop the bizarre weight of that small hand and hide his own in his pockets.

He didn't.

She was looking at him strangely, as if he was a slimy object she was practicing to touch, to not flinch at. He wondered if she felt that stagnant sort of repulsion at his touch too. She never showed anything except a mild sort of seething that brightened the green of her eyes, so neither did he. They sat like that, him; silent and steady – her; silent and seething.

* * *

It was strange, Sakura thought, the way his hand fit around her own. Touching him like that was like tentatively feeling the scales of a dying fish. She felt weird and repulsed but she didn't draw away. Instead, she faced him head on, feeling only slightly angry. She tried not to remember that she'd once slept with him; explored his body in ways that were way more intimate then just holding a hand. It felt a lifetime ago, and the lack of consensual passion was a palpable thing.

So they sat like that, with his hand clasping her own in a stronghold of power dynamic she still couldn't come to terms with. Up until that morning, all she'd felt for him was a numbing hatred; what she felt now was implacable, and that made her distinctly uncomfortable.

"I was wrong," he said eventually, after an eternity of silence, but it wasn't resentment or dislike coloring the air between them. She felt only the barest flutter of surprise before he said, "But so were you."

Instantly, that surprise melted into a fettered sort of… _something_ ; something jittery and wavering. She groped around her mental reserves for an all-consuming fury. She couldn't. For some unfathomable reason, she felt flustered; like he'd called her out on something plausible. Very quietly, summoning a frigidity she didn't quite feel, and summoning as much patronization in her voice as she could, she asked, "And how is that?"

He didn't humor her. He was straight-up candid – not outright cruel, but not kind either. "You're acting like a martyr when things have not yet hit rock bottom."

Something painful and uncomfortable suddenly clogged in her throat. "And what exactly is rock bottom?"

Grimly, he said, "When you're lying in a pool of your own blood."

"Is that a threat?" she asked, feeling her hand going cold in his own.

"It is information," he told her, closing his fist even more tightly around her own.

"A warning?" she asked, feeling a slow, sickening sort of horror skittering up her spine.

"No," he said, with a downward tug of his lips. Quietly, he added, "You are an exasperating woman."

Silently she glared at him. "How so?" she asked angrily.

He sighed, shook his head, as if disappointed. "I have been nothing but patient with you –"

" _I do not_ –"

"It's not up to you, you annoying woman," he said, though there was no bite in his voice and his tone seemed patient. Belatedly, she realized he was trying to give her advice. It was quite unnerving, but then she recalled Ino asking her to consider him an ally. She felt just as squeamish at the thought as she had back when Ino had first proposed it. For just a second, she let herself lament the fact that this was her life now; where she had to receive kindness from a family of criminals. She blinked back tears. "Stop," she whispered, turning her head away. His grip on her hand tightened imperceptibly.

"That day," he said, "I lost my patience."

She shuddered out a breath, remembering the deep, visceral cut of his words, and the barrage of emotions she'd felt after; especially the hatred, for being weak enough to let him cut herself like that. "I should have broken your balls," she told him, grim, dark and resentful.

He didn't recoil. Instead, he nodded; completely agreeing with her and she couldn't breathe for a second because she was Sakura and he was Sasuke and the universe rarely aligned enough for them to agree on one thing.

"I was out of line," he told her, "but so were you."

She bristled, not having the words to iterate her sudden anger and embarrassment.

He nodded, as if he could sense the murder on her mind. Then he went ahead and started to _explain_. Sakura felt an unbending combination of mortification and fury.

"You were trying to pick fights. That needs to stop."

Of course she knew he was right, but that didn't mean she had to admit it. She flexed her hand. He didn't let go. She looked at him, disbelieving, then away.

"We have a daughter together," he continued. "And we may not like each other, but we do love her."

Her legs were itching to stand up, her feet wanted to carry her away, but she made herself stay put. She listened because she wanted to survive. She listened because for once, he was talking sense.

"I will never get those eight years back," he continued, and she felt a sudden bout of empathy, because she knew that you could decorate absence however you wanted – but you were still going to feel what was missing. Grimly, she swallowed because he was right and she didn't want him to be.

His gaze bored into hers for a long moment. "I…I'm coming to terms with your reasons," he said, voice wavering. "I want to understand your position."

"And what's that?" she croaked, terrified of the answer.

"It's precarious, at best," he answered, looking spent.

"And so…?" she asked, noticing that her hand in his own didn't feel as slimy as it had just a few moments ago.

"And so, you need to start accepting that this is your life now."

 _This was her life now_ , her mind echoed. Even though she wanted no part of it, even though she had no choice, she understood in that moment that what was done was done. She simply had to make the best of that situation. She had a beautiful daughter who had been on the brink of death, and this man had pulled her from deaths doorstep itself. She'd have done anything for Sarada, and Sarada needed her Papa to protect her right then. So she took a deep breath, armoring herself against the next thought; she was married to him, and it didn't matter how much she loathed it. She was his wife now, and that small legality saved her from certain death.

She understood now, what he was trying to say – what Ino had been trying to tell her; no matter how much she wanted out, she needed to stay put.

He didn't let go of her hand, kept it between them in a mockery of a united front.

Because that's what they were going to be.

A mockery of a united front.

* * *

 _tbc_

 _Whew. Thanks guys, for sticking with this monster and for sending me support. You guys are great._


	17. Chapter 17

**A Cornucopia Of Conundrums**

Summary: "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're pregnant with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

At a stalemate was a hard thing to be.

It meant putting aside the overwhelming dislike of his basic character and curbing her indignant self-righteousness. It meant being civil and accommodating. It meant not picking fights just for the sake of hurting some feelings. It also meant trying to understand him, just like he'd claimed to be trying to understand her.

She didn't want to do any of those things, but at the same time she felt an instant unraveling of… _something_ inside of herself as well. She didn't feel any camaraderie towards him, but she also didn't feel so alone anymore. That feeling of being un-alone, she realized, was actually relief.

She felt _relieved_.

Knowing that unleased something inside of her – a rush of wild emotion, churning and indecipherable whirled inside her chest. Her heart suddenly felt so full; brimming with something she couldn't even understand herself.

So she closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath, held it in for one-two-three heartbeats and exhaled. It helped her calm down, but only a little. Gently, she reached out for Sarada and pulled her close. The bed shifted with her weight as she pulled the comforter closer around them both.

She heard him shuffle on his make-shift bed on the floor, and felt the ghost of a touch still lingering on her hand where he'd held it. She shook it off, tucking away some stray hair from Sarada's face. Her hand moved to Sarada's cheek, fingertips in her hair. Outside, the crickets chirped, leaves rustled in a soft breeze and the _shouji_ of their room rattled gently. For the longest while she kept staring at Sarada's face, willing her heart and her mind to calm down, to bury away the panic and apprehension and anxiety of this tentative truce and get a good night's sleep.

She knew what she'd have to do tomorrow.

She dreaded it just as much as she dreaded following Uchiha Sasuke's advice.

But she was going to do it anyway.

She closed her eyes, pulled Sarada closer and willed herself into the one-eyed sleep of dolphins; letting the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of her daughters breathing lull her to sleep.

* * *

When she woke up the next morning, her head felt clearer than it had in days. But most importantly, she knew what she had to do now. It wasn't what she'd ever imagined for herself, but she was learning that desperate times really _did_ call for desperate means.

It bothered her a lot to admit it, but Uchiha Sasuke had said some wise words the night before. He may have been selfish, and ultimately he was literally asking her to comply with an arguably dubitable propaganda but somewhere in the recesses of sleep, she'd realized that she would never be able to get herself, or Sarada away from here by simply trying to _resist_. Her will was iron, but her enemy was a kiln.

Much as it killed her, she'd have to assimilate in order to get any further.

It was a different way to think, and maybe it was a crap strategy – what did she know about toppling not-so-secret organizations, anyway; but it was _something_. It was better than despairing and crying and feeling sorry for herself. And that made her feel just a little bit better. But that didn't mean her heart wasn't tender enough to still hurt.

She could hear the birds chirping outside, the reflection of the diffused light from the _shouji_ behind her lids, feel Sarada's soft breathing against her chest, and still felt the echo of Uchiha Sasuke's hand on the back of her own.

She did not dislike him any less, but he was an ally that she was in no position to refuse.

* * *

Sasuke found it hard to understand this sudden almost-affability. If he were to be honest with himself, he hadn't exactly thought he'd make a difference. Haruno Sakura was a persistently dogged woman – she wasn't one to back out of decisions once she'd made a choice. He'd spent last night feeling acutely aware of how fucked up everything was going to get, feeling an exorbitant amount of despair at the thought that no matter how hard he tried, nothing was ever going to be enough. He'd fallen into a fitful sleep, and woken up to soft chirping of the birds outside. The eminent ennui had settled deeply into his shoulders, his bones, his blood. It was only a foreshadowing of the despair to come.

So when he found himself standing awkwardly in front of her at the bathroom door in that terrible mockery of strangers who serependitiously kept stepping right in each other's paths, he didn't quite know what to do – how to feel, act, look or even _move_. Awkwardly, he stepped aside and motioned for her to go ahead with a stiff hand gesture.

She surprised him by swaying indecisively on the spot and offering him the door by taking a step back. The gesture was such a tentative punch to the gut that Sasuke found his neck snapping up. Carefully, he observed the look on her face; stilted, apprehensive, the line of her jaw stubborn. He felt….incomprehensibly attracted to her indurate tenacity in that moment.

For just a moment, he floundered – didn't know how to feel, what to do, where to go. Then almost inadvertently, his lips twitched into an almost smile. He nodded his head in an affirmative, feeling just the smallest of weight chip off his shoulders and went inside.

* * *

Sakura wasn't glad to observe that the stilted breakfast she had every day with Sasuke's family was becoming a norm. She didn't want any part of it, but she also knew that picking at her food every day would get her nowhere. So, she drank her miso soup and ate all her rice, didn't pay a heed to the observing eyes of the rest and went about her business with a newfound energy that she'd missed in herself for a long, long time.

She kept a razor-sharp focus on her food, made sure Sarada was wearing her compression socks and avoided everyone's eye when she ushered Sarada away. She could feel the undercurrent of amused bewilderness that layered the air in that _washitsu_ that day. She didn't let herself look at any of them because she knew a part of her would shrivel up with abject self-reproof – she didn't want to fall down that rabbit hole again, so she simply plowed ahead.

"Are you feeling better, Mama?" Sarada asked her in the car. Dropping her to the school had become a part of the routine – the one where she parked and sat right on the curb outside the hospital. _No more_ , Sakura promised herself.

She eased the car to a stop at a traffic light, turned sideways and gently patted Sarada's head. Her hair was getting its luster back, her eyes shined with alertness, her face was scrunched up in animated concentration – she was tiny and precious and alivealive _alive_!

Sakura let her heart overflow with love for this little girl. "Yes," she said softly, "Mama is feeling better."

Sarada peered at her face closely, kept at it for the better part of ten seconds, then decided that she wasn't being lied to and let out a long, long sigh of relief that made Sakura feel extremely contrite. At that moment, she felt even more ashamed at the defeatist attitude that had painted her every decision for days now. Sarada smiled at her; beautiful and vibrant, and Sakura felt her heart settle back in her chest, felt a sudden urge to squeeze this child in a hug and never let go. She settled for ruffling her hair.

"Hey!" Sarada squealed, rising up on her knees to fix her hair in the rearview mirror.

When she pulled the car at the school gate, and turned around to give Sarada a smile, she was suddenly surprised with a full, wet smack to her cheek. Sarada leaned back, grinning and happy. "Have fun at work, Mama!" she trilled before running out of the car.

Sakura caught herself smiling and rubbed her cheek softly. "Don't run!" she managed to shout past her smile, and watched Sarada disappear inside the gates until the cars behind honked for her to make way.

* * *

Before Sarada, Sakura had always thought she'd go into field medicine – Trauma had seemed like the most exciting choice for a medical specialization. She'd wanted to travel around with organizations like _Konoha Corps_ ; help the afflicted in areas where medical outreach was dismal at best, and suppositional at worst. She'd had terribly clichéd aspirations, all of which had been disabused once she'd found she was pregnant.

Once upon a time, she had resented her unborn child. Now, she felt guilty about even thinking such terrible thoughts. She knew now that Trauma medicine only looked glamorous to the arrogant and conceited. It was terribly careworn work; one that called for some truly unpleasant choices.

Instead, she had found solace in General Surgery, then Gastrointestinal Surgery and later, Cardiothoracic's. She loved the biological clockwork of the body – how one part literally effected the other in an inherent way. All of that experience had led her to her research grant for Stem Cell Regeneration, although she hadn't been able to find anything groundbreaking before Sarada had been diagnosed.

She knew she was a truly capable doctor, and she dreaded what use the _Uchiha_ would make of her.

"Oh!" said the nurse seated at the station, when she tentatively walked inside. "You're here!"

She was a short woman with her hair tied back in a severe bun – only a little younger than herself, Sakura guessed.

"Yes," Sakura answered, looking around dubiously, keeping her eyes peeled.

"Good!" said the nurse. "Did you get your ID and phone from HR?"

"No."

"It's okay. You can get that later. The research lab is waiting for you."

Sakura felt incredibly dismal to hear that. Logically, she'd know that Madara never would have let her out of that estate if he didn't actually have some ulterior motives, but experiencing it first hand was an entirely low blow to the solar plexus.

Suddenly, she felt extremely apprehensive and looked around at the passing staff as if they were all collaborators in a nefarious plot. Her shoulders pricked in a way that she assumed they did when you were smack in the middle of an enemy stronghold – just waiting for that death sentence to take effect. Or maybe like a gazelle that had found itself strolling right in the middle of a pride of lions.

The nurse led her through several bends around the hospital corridors. Like every respectable healthcare building, this one was a labyrinth as well. Sakura made mental checklists of every department they passed – Admin, Inpatient, Surgery, Dermatology, Psychiatry – until they reached what she assumed was a secluded lab department that belonged to the Attendings conducting their research.

Sakura felt a high tide of apprehension rise up inside of her chest. Her hands shook slightly as the nurse slid an access card through the automatic doors and led her in. she knew her research on Stem Cell Regeneration to be a particularly biometric phenomenon, but that didn't mean she was naïve enough to not know that in the wrong hands, it could be a bioweapon of epic proportions. She had no interest in providing a new line of weapons to the _Uchiha Rengo_. She knew it in her bones that she'd let herself be killed before she ever did that.

So it came as a completely unanticipated providential whiplash when she found all of her previous research piled neatly in a stack at a chrome plated desk inside a state of the art laboratory. It had all the trappings of a sophisticated high-end lab she could use to proceed with her original research.

Stunned, she turned to the nurse, who was busy checking something off a clipboard she'd plucked from the door. "Alright," she said after a second. "I'll leave you to it, then."

And Sakura suddenly found herself all alone in an isolated, sterile lab where she'd thought she'd be fraught with the beginnings of another battle she could never win. Only, she wasn't and she didn't feel relieved at all – she felt like there was another shoe waiting to drop right on top of her at any moment now. So just to be sure, she sat down at the desk and started sifting through her files. One by one, she read through each one, recalling forgotten facts, looking for new additives and trying to decipher what it all meant.

When she was done, she even got on her computer and did a cursory search on stem cells being used in a weaponized constitution. She found a relative wealth of information at hand, then got carried away by a curious streak that led her to read an inordinate amount of data on Stem Cell Therapeutics, Mesenchymals and bone marrow cultivation. When she finally pulled herself out, she was surprised to find that it was already past high noon and that she'd basically spent the better part of a day researching a highly controversial medical concept that she'd initially even refused to consider as a legible option.

She felt, at once, horrified and inquisitive. It felt like she was being suckered down a rabbit hole of a completely different variety this time. Unnerved, she forced herself to get up and decided to navigate around the Medical and Surgical wings to get a basic hand of what she was actually getting into.

At the reception, she found a nurse who guided her towards HR, where she received her ID, tablet and badge. Then she spent the day striding around familiar-yet-unfamiliar corridors, observing the melee from a distance, trying to look beyond the façade at what lay underneath. By evening, she'd tried everything, but it wasn't until she tried to look at the current case files in the Attendings lounge that she found something unsettling. She couldn't access any of the inpatient files with her id. At first, she thought she'd typed in the wrong code, but after the fifth, sixth, seventh try, she found that the 'access denied' was a very deliberate way to keep her out of the system.

It was a curious little misstep, but one where she would start her digging.

* * *

When she got back to the estate, Sarada was sprawled tummy-side-up on the bedroom floor, a plethora of homework assignments spread around her. Sakura's heart instantly warmed over at the sight of her.

"Do you need any help?" she asked.

Sarada shot her a distractedly affronted look. "No."

Her daughter was a curiously independent person, so Sakura simply went on with her own routine. She went to the bathroom, took care of her business, came out, riffled through the wardrobe, and was just about to pull out her armor for tomorrow when –

"Mama!" Sarada snapped, sounding extremely irked.

"Yes?"

"Could you please stop distracting me? I'm _trying_ to _solve_ this word problem!" she chastised in the way only small children had of chastising their parents. Sakura blinked in the face of Sarada's petulant displeasure, took note that it must have been a particularly arduous word problem, pressed her lips together in order to keep herself from offering help, and quietly let herself out of the room.

Outside, the evening was turning the sky in a riot of colors. It was an exceptionally beautiful sight, but Sakura had never been a poet. She looked both ways, dark _engawas_ spanning both directions, looking eerily ancient and incongruous for this contemporary world. She remembered Konan dragging her down one of them on that night she'd tried to flee. An involuntary shudder trickled down her spine. She snapped her eyes forward and took in the familiar _yuan_. The grass was crisp with the promise of winter, and the air felt fresher, cleaner than it had in days.

Sakura sat down at the edge of the courtyard and simply looked at the sky. It looked very vast, very far, and very unattainable. She had a sudden longing for her parents, her tough-as-nails mother, her soft-hearted father. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

She sat there for a long time, leaning back on her hand, observing the passing clouds, mulling over her options, feeling a light breeze play with her hair, missing her parents, missing Ino, Sai and even baby Inojin – letting the loss, the feeling of bereft consume her. She was so lost in her thoughts that it took her a minute to notice the quiet thump of footsteps, the soft shuffle of clothing as someone sat down beside her. She knew even before opening her eyes who it would be, and sure enough, it was Uchiha Sasuke, sitting three paces away from her, staring straight ahead, looking exceptionally aquiline while doing so.

She searched her heart and found some of that unfettered resentment that she liked to wear as armor around him. It was fleeting now, almost like holding on to running water or sand, perpetually slipping out of her grasp, especially when she kept noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines around his mouth, the slight droop in his otherwise perfectly straight shoulders.

She looked away before her heart could start reaching – before she could start wishing that theirs had been a more normal relationship.

But then she started mulling over all the times he'd offered her an olive branch and she'd adamantly spit of his face. This wasn't any better. The miscommunication, the one-sided communication or the lack of communication between them was a huge setback. And, she thought a little ruefully, if she were to be completely honest with herself, then Uchiha Sasuke _did_ have the right to feel an intermittend animosity. She'd seen the way he loved Sarada – quiet and fierce. She'd kept that from him.

She looked around at the gently falling leaves, felt that uncanny apprehension that always came with taking a huge leap of faith. Against her every instinct, against her rightful fears, and against all the odds that stood against them, she decided to accept that olive branch of his.

Very tentatively, she said, "Sarada is working on her homework."

She felt very wide eyed and naïve when he turned around to look at her. "…Aa."

"She didn't want to be disturbed…"

"Aa…"

There was just something about his pale, drawn face that was making her stomach clench in an anxious knots.

"So I just… "she said, gesturing around with her eyes, floundering for something polite to say.

He simply nodded, and she nodded in turn, then resolutely looked away.

* * *

Sasuke observed her profile. She seemed to be feeling better, her eyes sparkling with that inherent Sakura-ness again, and he felt a small relief. She wasn't acting meek or vicious or stupid. It was a small solace, but it was also a hard-won victory on his part. So he let out a small relieved breath and closed his eyes. Behind his lids, the ache between his eyes, smack at the top of his nose bridge was slowly but surely receding.

"So, uh…" she started, and he haltingly opened his eyes again to look at her.

She looked exactly like a deer caught in headlights – stiff, awkward and flighty. He decided to tread with care. "Yes?"

"I…had a few questions?" she ventured, looking completely unsure if he'd answer.

He wasn't sure that he would – or even if he _should_ – but he didn't want her to close herself off again. So he answered, "I'll do my best."

She peered at him for one long moment, then nodded slowly. "Fair enough. So…what exactly are you?"

The question was vague and messily crafted. He didn't understand its context so he simply raised his brows and saw her face heat up with an angry flush.

"I meant, what's your role in all of this?" she asked more aggressively now, gesturing around at the compound looking angry and flustered. "I assume there are ranks, so what is yours? How does this work? You didn't used to live here when we – when you – when we – first met!"

Sasuke watched her attentively, brows furrowing, lips pressing, feeling inquisitive and amused at the same time. He looked on as she fidgeted in agitation, avoiding his eyes, looking anywhere and everywhere but at him.

In the end, he let his lips twitch in the smallest of smiles. He'd spend a long, grueling, tension filled day negotiating a contract with the _Hyuga_. His nerves, that had been frayed to a point gradually started settling back as he observed her face, mulled her questions over, and thought about how to answer.

"My role…" he mused, thinking over the last decade and a half, the figurative gauntlet of terrible choices that he'd made over those years – the could-have, would-have, should-have been's had he just enough precociousness, enough self-esteem or enough self-respect to have gotten out when he'd had that choice.

"The _gokudo_ ," he started instead, "is an hierarchy. The _Oyabun_ is the family head. Then there are his second and third in command; the _Wakagashira_ and the _Shateigashira_. The former, in our _rengo_ is the _Oyabun's_ brother. The latter is my father."

She'd been listening raptly, but at the mention of his father she visibly stiffened. She opened her mouth, closed it and sighed. "Your father is the third in command?" she asked, looking frightened.

"Yes," he answered, trying to look past the feat, to understand what she was feeling.

"So what are you – like, a _gokudo_ prince?" she replied, looking fearful. "You're not – _next in line_ or something, are you?"

 _Ah_ , he thought. She was worried about being married to a potential heir, fearing for Sarada's life, dreading the possibility that she'd be forced to breed another potential heir. "Hardly," he answered darkly, feeling grim all of a sudden.

She let out a relieved sigh, took a moment to compose herself. "That's good," she said, almost to herself. "So what _is_ your position? What about the rest of your family?"

"Itachi – he's the _Saiko-komon_ ; the _Oyabun's_ advisor. My mother – she's the _gokutsuma_ ; a recognized female within the syndicate. There are very few women in the _gokudo_. My mother is one of the ones who survived." It wasn't exactly lost of him that he was very artfully trying to evade a certain question.

Sakura let out a breath, looking slightly overwhelmed. "Your family is basically the syndicate royalty," she muttered, sounding out of breath and afraid. "I can't believe I slept with a _yakuza_ _prince_."

He felt at once affronted and alarmed at that confession. On the one hand, he felt slightly relieved that they were finally acknowledging that night all those years ago. But at the same time, being labeled the _yakuza prince_ , when he was anything but didn't sit right with him. He felt compelled to correct her, so he grudgingly admitted his place on the pecking order. "I was merely a _Shatei_ when we first…met," he told her.

"And what's that?" she asked with just a tinge of mean in her voice.

He exhaled sharply, looking away. "A junior boss. A grunt worker. Assistant. Overseer. Whichever one you prefer."

There was a long beat of silence, during which Sasuke resolutely avoided any sort of eye contact. Then there was a small, almost derisive snort-scoff, and inadvertently, his head swung around to face her. She was wide-eyed and amused, lips pressed together to keep from – _smiling_. With a jolt, he realized she was trying to suppress a _smile_.

He hadn't seen her smile in a long, long while. Immediately, his shoulders relaxed, the heat in his face receded, and he felt – he felt his own mouth twitch upwards, almost as if her smile was contagious.

She blinked once, twice, thrice, and then looked away, mouth eventually settling in a straight line again. "So you were basically a worker ant," she murmured.

"Aa," he replied, looking ahead again. Night had fallen, and the reflection of the sky looked especially gorgeous on the koi pond.

"And what are you now?" she asked, sounding tentative again.

He shrugged. "Kyodai."

"Is that any better?"

He turned around to look at her once more. "No. Relieved?"

She scrutinized him, then at length, said, "Very."

He nodded, and turned back again. He could feel her observing him again, and he let her. After a while, she looked away, and he felt like a small weight had been lifted off his heart.

They sat in an almost companionable silence for a while, until Sarada poked her head out and said, "You can come in now."

* * *

That night, for the first time in a long, long while, Sakura slept a relatively sound sleep. It wasn't that she was any less apprehensive. It was simply that talking to him, getting to know his place and getting to understand a small part of his standing had provided a small comfort.

It had meant that she wasn't always in imminent danger because of his position in the _gokudo_.

It had meant that Sarada probably had a little time before the vultures pounced.

And it meant that maybe, just maybe, she could count of him to get them out of here.

* * *

 _tbc_

 _Oh, jeez. Thanks for all the kind words guys. You don't know how many times I almost gave up on this story only to be inspired again when a kind review popped up. Apologies for any and all mistakes - I've decided to do extensive editing later._

 _Anyways; I have two requests:_

 _1\. Please tell me what country do you guys live in?  
2\. And PLEASE if you're a medical professional then CONTACT ME. I've a few questions to ask and no time to do research!_


	18. Chapter 18

**A Cornucopia Of Conundrums**

Summary: "So what you're saying is; you had a one night stand with some yakuza lordling, and now you're pregnant with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

* * *

 _And there's nothing wrong with being a lizard either. Unless you were born to be a hawk. ~ L. Bardugo_

* * *

Weapons trafficking in Konoha was not as easy these days as it once used to be. Sasuke remembered a time when there existed an almost symbiotic relationship between the Uchiha and the local law enforcement committees. But almost a decade ago, Jiraiya had rooted out all their spies from the police and introduced the Anti-Yakuza Law.

His unscrupulous hatred of Uchiha Madara had been the driving force behind his every action – even the Senju appointed Hokage of that time had not been able to hold him back. In a span of just three years, he'd imposed laws that foisted tight restrictions on Yakuza activities, even to the extent of deeming some otherwise legal activities to be illegal when performed by members of blacklisted gangs.

That was when his father had opened a chain of restaurants to carry out the drug trafficking behind the scenes. The Oyabun had been pleased when Itachi had led his _Kuromaku_ to make _Kasai_ a nightclub front for their other dubious activities. They'd been very careful about keeping up a good, legal front, gradually venturing into real estate development, stock market speculation and even corporate management. It was the story of how the Panopticon has been conceived.

Konohagakure was Uchiha Madara's coveted kingdom, and his unfettered thirst for more – more power, more dominion, more _control_ – had ensured that none of their legal fronts could work beyond their rendered facades. So when Sasuke found himself overseeing their weapon trafficking venture with the Hyuga at _Kasai_ that day, he didn't allow himself to think beyond that moment. He knew that if he did, he would start questioning his orders – and when one started questioning their orders in the _gokudo_ , things never really worked out for them.

He carefully appraised the small stock – the _Oyabun_ had always had a flair for style. Even with his conceal-but-carry commandments, he never compromised on the style of his artillery. Sasuke had always been fascinated by the _Oyabun's_ warring sensibilities; his unabridged need to beautify chaos.

The oversaw the inventory of the small box of Kahr's .44 Magnums, carefully gauged the stocky handle of the Generation 5 Glock 26 and looked over the .22 Buck Marks. All seemed in order. He gave a firm nod to Hyuga Neji, who sat leisurely on the sofa. Sasuke could tell from the rigid stiffness of his shoulders that Huuga was less than comfortable in the basement labyrinth of _Kasai_. With a thin smile and an arch tilt of his head, he commandeered his small assembly to pick up two overflowing bags of cash and without a backward glance, glided out the door.

Sasuke watched his retreating back for a second, then texted Itachi that the contraband was safe and awaiting further loading. He knew the job wasn't over yet – it wouldn't be until those weapons were sitting safely in the _Uchiha_ compound. He went outside and nodded at the man at the door to keep a lookout for any stragglers. He had to check the top for any leftover worms and make sure the location was secure.

Halfway down to the main joint, he felt someone following in his steps. The footfalls were muted, quiet, but he had a killer instinct, and it was telling him that something bad was about to go down. He kept walking, keeping his steps even, observing the brightly lit floor of the corridor for any reflections. _Kasai's_ basement was not a seedy underbelly – it was a well-maintained eco-system of its own; with beautifully inlaid floors and classy drop ceilings, each and every nook and cranny was as trendy and well-lit as possible. So when Sasuke turned around the corner, he caught the subtle movements of his follower in the reflection of the floor and swiftly turned around, pumping his leg in a brutal kick.

He had only a moment to comprehend that his attacker was a straggling Hyuga, and that he was holding on to one of their newly minted Glock 26. Taking advantage of his surprise attack, Sasuke quickly kicked the gun out of the Hyuga's hand. It flew from his hand and landed ten-feet away.

He then briskly strode ahead to his assailant, expertly dodging hits and landing a few of his own. This kerfuffle was nothing new – Sasuke had had some expert training of his own. But his assailant was also skilled, and no amount of dithering was going to make this fight end at a stalemate. He was just about to deliver a quick, ending blow when his assailant pulled out a small _tanto_ from his jacket. Sasuke was momentarily caught by surprise and his assailant's characteristic white eyes shone with determination as he lashed out. Sasuke was quick enough to dodge most of the blow, but the tip of the _tanto_ still glanced his temple. As a streak of blood gushed down the side of his face, the very first thought that popped into his head was: _what will I tell Sarada?_

The thought was so abrupt and so jarring, that it paralyzed him for a moment – it sent a streak of panic spiraling down his spine, made his breath come short and made him forget all the carefully ingrained training that had kept him alive for so long. _Focus_ , he told himself. _Focus now, think later_.

His assailant took that moment to grab the gun that had fallen away, and just as Sasuke was breaking out of his stupor, the Hyuga came stumbling forward and punched him in the face. The blow was hard enough to make him lose his balance, and as he fell down, a sharp, cracking pain arced from the side of his head all the way down his jaw – he'd been docked on the head by the butt of the gun. The pain intensified two-fold when his head hit the hard, marble inlaid floor, but this time, he didn't let himself think. He tamped down all his thoughts and feelings and let his body move like a machine. With one swift heave, he was standing on his feet. With a few quick, precise blows, both the gun and the _tanto_ flew out of his assailants hand, and with a few swift kicks, he'd crippled the other man enough to end the fight. But his body was still thrumming, the pain was being dulled by the adrenaline, and because he'd been ingrained by the _gokudo_ to never let any other rengo show them up, he dragged the limp body towards the second-level basement stairs and unceremoniously threw it down.

A few thumps and bumps later, it lay very still at the first landing. Bloody and heaving, Sasuke stared at the unmoving body for five, six, seven heartbeats before conscious thought finally started to trickle in. Breath still coming short, he slowly slid to the floor and sat at the top of the stairs with his head in his hands. His head swam and his heart beat restless in his chest – one beat, wrong, two beats, _wrong_ , three beats, wrongwrong _wrong_!

This was all so _wrong_ – his entire being felt amiss; as if killing that man just now had displaced his soul out of his body. The cut at his temple throbbed painfully, his eyesight had gone blurry, his shoulder hurt from the impact it had taken from the floor, but it was his heart that felt like it was beating the wrong rhythm inside his chest.

Slowly, he made himself look – tried to blink away the blurry edges. He stared at the limp body, the angle of the broken neck, the blood staining the ground beneath. There was something about the moment of impact that stuck to him – as if he were floating around in one of the worst nightmares of his life.

Therengo was not a good place – he knew that. Therengo was never a good place. Butin that moment, staring at the twisted body of that man, Sasuke finally understood that therengo was not home – not anymore. Maybe it had never been.

* * *

Itachi arrived at _Kasai_ just as Sasuke had organized the _Shatei_ under him. He instantly appraised Sasuke's condition and abruptly dismissed him with a nod of his head.

He held a pack of ice to his forehead as Kisame – one of the _Kuromaku_ – drove him home. Through the pain and the blur and the displacement, all Sasuke could think about was how he was ever going to face Sarada again. Her small, happy, smiling face kept popping into his mind, and it made him feel as if small critters were crawling all over his hands, his legs, his _entire being_.

It took him a few moments to maneuver out of the car when they finally reached the compound, and Kisame raced away without a single word – just a wolfish grin of appreciation for how the situation had been handled. Sasuke heaved a defeated sigh, roved a bloody hand through his hair and found that the cut at his temple was slowly trickling blood again. He threw away the half-melted pack of ice, then slowly stumbled through the maze that was the compound, all the way praying that Sarada be asleep, that Sakura be nowhere in sight.

When he finally reached his room, the lights were off, but when he slid the _shouji_ open, no one was inside. Unthinkingly, he staggered inside, fumbling through the darkness, trying not to touch anything with his bloody hands. He made it all the way to the dresser, pulled open a random drawer, dragged out some clothes and held them up to his temple to curb the bleeding. He winced at the pain, braced himself against the top and finally closed his eyes. He knew that he should probably stitch it up while he still retained some conscious thought, but the pain felt good – almost like a black sort of redemption; something to draw away the focus from what he'd just done, of how he was going to face his daughter now.

The blackness behind his lids seemed to become a canvas – flashing back to all the things he'd ever done wrong, of all the terrible choices he'd had to make, and lastly, of Sarada – looking at him as if he were not her Papa, but a monster who ended people's lives. His breath became shuddery, his head throbbed a painful rhythm and he thought he might just puke his guts out then and there when the lights abruptly switched on.

Startled out of his misery, he abruptly opened his eyes. Sakura was standing at the door, one hand on the light switch, the other hanging by her side, eye wide and face pale, looking at him as if he'd grown an extra head.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly, carefully. "What happened to you?"

He saw two impressions of her from his blurry vision, and his heart suddenly crawled all the way into his throat and he finally, finally, _finally_ _completely_ understood why she'd kept Sarada from him. The sudden realization was so unbidden and so uncalled for that he had to look away. He felt himself swaying on his feet and closed his eyes to keep the pain and nausea at bay. His heart felt as if it was shriveling inside his chest – _Kami_ , he thought, _she'd been right_. She'd been right _all along_.

He didn't want to mull it over, but the notion literally slammed into him like a ton of bricks. His body swayed as a huge wave of nausea consumed his insides and suddenly, she was by his side, supporting half of his weight and he was being slowly maneuvered towards the bed. Gently, she pried away the clothes from his fingers and belated he realized that he'd unknowingly grabbed a handful of her underwear. He felt a hysterical sort of laugh bubbling inside of his chest as she frowned at the bloody wad of cotton, then gently examined his temple.

Her face was grim but her eyes were clear and up close, he could make out every strand of her rose-colored hair even through his blurry vision.

"What is wrong with you? Did you get in a fight? Where else are you hurt?" she asked, and the pain in his head intensified as she carefully jabbed the bump of the side of his head, then examined the cut on the other side. He winced and her eyes flashed. For a moment, he had an unsolicited urge to just grab her shoulders and tell her to run far, far away from here as she'd first vowed to do. She peered at his face and grimaced, then pulled away and he thought that maybe she'd read his mind, that she was really going to run away, and this time, he wanted to help her.

"This is bad. I need to patch you up. I'll get my medical kit. Don't move," she instructed as she scurried around the room. Once she'd found it, she came back and gently propped him up. "Come on. I need to stitch this up. Let's go to the bathroom."

Once again, Sasuke swayed and had to brace his hands on the mattress. Stumbling towards the bathroom was harder than he thought it'd be, but she helped him carry some of his weight, and when she sat him down on the commode, he felt another wave of nausea hit the back of his throat. He took deep breaths as she figured out her medical kit. It took her only a few seconds to get everything she'd need in order and by that time, he'd composed himself enough to look up.

She lightly cupped the side of his face, tilted it and numbed the cut at his temple – the needle made him anxious, but he trusted her skills enough to power through it. He winced when she cleaned up the side of his temple and irrigated the cut with saline. He squinted through his blurry vision and noticed that her eyes were fierce. He could tell that he wanted to rip him a new one, but that she was also holding herself back. In that moment, he felt infinitely ashamed of himself.

"You do realize," she said after a moment, "that the moment you die, we die as well? Sarada and I?" Her words echoed with a mild reprimand, and through the dizziness, he noted that she said all of this with a gentle sort of aggression. She was angry and terrified. Restraining herself because of his injury was costing her. "Isn't that why you married me? To keep us safe?"

Upon hearing that, he felt his insides constrict painfully. She didn't let him reply though, just deftly got a needle and surgical thread ready, and before he even knew it, she was sewing his head close. He was glad he couldn't feel anything, or he might really have puked down the front of her shirt.

She was done in only a few moments, after which she took thin penlight out of her kit and shone it in his eyes.

"Don't blink," she ordered.

He squinted as the penlight glared brightly into his pupils. The oddball of pain, nausea, guilt and shame roiling around in his stomach did nothing to ease the throbbing in his head, but all he could feel in that moment was an abated fear that Sarada would walk in any moment now and he wouldn't be able to look her in the eyes – that Sakura would figure out what he'd done tonight and never speak to him again. Their tentative truce hadn't even begun yet, and now it was already falling apart.

"You're concussed," Sakura informed him, as he blinked to squint away the glare of her light. She handed him a glass of water from the bathroom tap. "Drink."

"Sara-da?" he managed to croaked as she helped him take a sip.

"She was with your mother. She'll be back in a little while," she told him before taking away the glass and looking down at him with a controlled severity. "Now, will you tell me what happened?"

 _Tell her what happened?_ He though dazedly, lightly touching his sore shoulder. If it was one thing he'd figured out about Haruno Sakura, it was that she was an incredibly self-righteous woman. As it were, it had taken her an insane amount of time just to get used to the idea of being acquaintances with him. If he told her that he'd killed a man tonight, she would run for the hills, and as much as that idea was gradually starting to sound attractive, he also knew that it would be the death of her.

Maybe she knew that she wouldn't get an answer out of him because she just let out a tired, pitiful sigh and said, "I'm going to bandage your head now. Why don't you sleep on the bed, tonight?"

He blinked and looked straight ahead at nothing. She unearthed a huge wad of surgical bandages from her medical kid and went to work on his head. Only a few moments in, the bathroom door quietly opened and they heard a small gasp.

"Papa!" Sarada was suddenly standing in front of him, looked absolutely terrified and thunderstruck – but before she could move forward, he found himself grabbing Sakura's hand that had been carefully wrapping the gauze around his head and hiding his face in the palm of her hand. The jumble of nerves, guilt and self-approbation made him sick to his stomach. The small glimpse of Sarada's terrified expression stuck to him and he found himself holding on to Sakura's hand even tighter. _Save me_ , he wanted to say, but couldn't.

There was a long beat of silence, where his heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he felt his entire body shudder with shame, guilt and humiliation. _Kami_ , he thought to himself, _what have I been doing all this time?_

"Sarada," he heard Sakura say eventually. "Papa fell down and hit his head very hard. He's in a lot of pain. Can you get an ice-pack from _Oba-chan_?"

"Will he be okay?" she asked in a small voice.

"Of course," Sakura told her lightly. "It's just a little concussion."

He could feel Sarada's eyes on him, gentle and probing – worried. He held on to Sakura's wrist tighter, trying to disappear into thin air, wishing he were anyone else but himself.

A small swish and he could tell that she was gone for now, but only after several moments had passed did he let his hold on Sakura's wrist loosen.

After a long moment of tense silence, she sighed in pity and resumed wrapping the bandage around his head. Her hands were callused, with tiny bumps in all the places where small shards of glass had once stuck in her palms. But despite all that had happened – despite everything he had done to beat her will into submission, she was still standing strong, and he had never been more awed or envious of anyone more than he was of her in that moment.

So with a scratchy voice and shamed tone, he asked, "How do you do this? How do you defy him – _us_?"

Her hands stopped for just a small beat before resuming their rhythmic movement. He waited for her to answer, but she never responded. Only when his head was carefully wrapped did she speak.

"I just try to do the right thing," she told him while wrapping up her medical kit. Then carefully examined his face, nodded once, and left.

 _I just try to do the right thing._

What was the right thing to do, he wondered, when you were him? The moment he defied an order, he knew the _Oyabun_ would come after what was most precious to him.

But he also knew that right then, in that moment, Sarada was the thing he held dearest to his heart. And the fact that he felt guilty enough to not look her in the face tore at his insides. Silently, he dropped his head between his knees and felt tears of desolation prick at his eyes.

He blinked them all away.

* * *

Sakura cleared away the bloody underwear from the bed. Sarada must have been terrified when she must have seen them. Her heart squeezed painfully at the thought – and the thought that this might, one day, become the norm.

 _No_ , she thought. _No. We will get out_.

Uchiha Sasuke was passed out on the bed, and Sarada sat at his side, gently stroking his head, holding an ice-pack to the concussed side of his head.

Sakura knew something big had happened tonight. She saw it in the way Sasuke had hid away from Sarada. She saw it in the incriminating droop of his shoulders. She saw it in the blood dripping out of the side of his head.

But most of all, she heard it in the guilty tone with which he'd asked her how she defied them.

Something had cracked in him tonight.

"Mama?" Sarada called out to her.

"Yes?"

She could tell Sarada was trying to think of how to phrase her next query. "Did Papa really fall down and hit his head?"

Sakura appreciated her candor, but she didn't know how to answer the question. So she simply climbed up the bed and opened her arms wide. Sarada crawled in her embrace, one hand still holding on to her Papa tightly. "Is he hurting very much?"

"He'll get better, sweetheart," Sakura told her gently, making her embrace tighter, resting her cheek on Sarada's silky head and feeling absolutely uncertain of what the future might hold for them all.

* * *

When Sasuke came to, it was barely dawn. He could hear the chirping of the early birds outside, his head throbbed something fierce, but his vision wasn't as blurry anymore, and he could feel a gentle weight lying just next to him. He knew that small lump could only be Sarada – she was tucked up beside him snugly, and holding on the lapel of his shirt tightly – maybe in fear that Papa would be taken away from her once again. His heart constricted painfully in his chest.

It was dark and gloomy but he felt such an intense jolt of love take home in his heart that for just a few moments, it overshadowed all the shame and guilt he'd been harboring since last night. He gently wrapped his arms around her small form and held her tight to his chest. She was warm and alive and breathing evenly. Her hair was soft and silky and cropped short just like her mothers. His shoulder ached when he wove his fingers in her hair, but he ignored the sharp twinges – just closed his eyes and breathed deep.

Unbidden, he got the urge to become a better person for this tiny human that had taken up permanent residence in his heart.

He wanted to give her the world.

He wanted her to have every good thing in the universe.

He also didn't know how to do that.

Belatedly, he realized that there were two sides warring inside of him now – one that wanted to shed the rengo and become someone better. The other one was a realist that knew that the only way to abandon the _gokudo_ was to lay down your life. He'd been there when Uzumaki Naruto has dared defied the _Senju_. He was there when Hatake Kakashi had switched sides. He knew that Uzumaki had to flee beyond the borders of Konohagakure, and still lived in hiding to avoid the desperate manhunt that had been let loose on his tail – there was a bounty on his head of an amount he couldn't imagine. He also knew that Hatake Kakashi was blind now – his eyes had been gouged out by Uchiha Madara himself.

So he understood that he only ever had one choice – and that becoming a decent human being, even for the sake of his daughter was something he couldn't do. Maybe those eight years Haruno Sakura had managed to keep him away had been a blessing.

All he knew now was that if keeping Sarada and her mother alive meant that he had to bow down to the _gokudo's_ will and keep chipping away at his humanity, then he would do all that and more without a question.

Maybe, he thought, that was the coward's way out, but it was the only one he'd ever known.

 _Not anymore_ , a small voice in his head whispered. It was annoying and persistent – sounded suspiciously like Haruno Sakura – and it made him angry.

It said, _I just try to do the right thing_.

He ignored it. If he had to kill hundreds of others so Sarada could stay alive, well and as innocent as he could keep her under the circumstances, then he would put all his guilt and shame aside to do that as well.

He held his little girl for a long, long time, and when the sun was fully up, finally decided to get up. His body ached, his bones creaked and his head swam, but he ignored it all. Halfway to the bathroom, he saw Sakura shifting in the futon on the ground. Bleary-eyed, she looked him up and down.

"You're concussed," she told him lazily, in a ' _remember last night?_ ' tone while simultaneously appraising him with a keen eye even through the haze of sleep. "You need rest."

He made himself look her dead in the eye and said, "I'm fine."

He had a feeling that she knew he wasn't, but he wasn't going to acknowledge that. He had a meeting to attend, and no amount of concussed heads were going to stand in the way.

A small part of him twinged with contrition – for he was now doing the same thing he'd been accusing her of; retreating inside his head, thinking irrationally, and doing all the wrong things to keep them all alive.

But he'd never known any other way.

* * *

Itachi was waiting for him in the lobby of the Panopticon when he arrived. Together, they made their way to a meeting room.

"Are you alright?" Itachi asked, nodding worriedly towards the bandage on his head.

"Aa," Sasuke nodded, taking a seat and slumping heavily into the chair. He felt absolutely exhausted – his brain throbbed and felt like it might explode out of his head, so he closed his eyes briefly.

"You don't look alright to me," Itachi commented lightly, taking a seat next to him. "Did Sakura stitch up your head?"

"Aa," Sasuke mumbled, eyes still closed and trying to rid his mind of the memory of her gentle hands, and her haunting words.

 _You do realize that the moment you die, we die as well? Sarada and I?_

 _Isn't that why you married me? To keep us alive?_

 _I just try to do the right thing._

Itachi seemed to know that he was retreating into his head. So he cleared his throat and started debriefing him. "Turns out Hyuga have been embezzling legal arms and selling them on the illegal market. One of their moles got caught. They had to go rogue."

Sasuke knew that the relatively high risks associated with weapons trafficking were always meant to be a disincentive for organized criminal groups like the _Uchiha_ and _Senju_. But people like the _Oyabun_ made sure that these arms were always in demand, so criminals like Hyuga were always exploiting vulnerabilities in the legitimate supply chains to obtain weapons and ammunition.

He just never knew they'd be stupid enough to get caught in the process.

"So? Who attacked me last night?" he asked, already feeling his concussed head increasing in pain.

"Iroha Hyuga," Itachi told him. "Apparently, he'd been in cahoots with their clan head. They were probably going to backstab and hand one of us back to the authorities for immunity."

Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose.

Itachi sighed, and loosened his tie.

They both sat in comfortable silence for a small while, but then Itachi asked, "So…that was your second kill."

Sasuke felt all the nausea, apprehension, shame, conniption and anxiety he'd curbed that morning take shape inside his chest once again. He pinched his eyes tightly closed and tried to battle his fraught nerves – tried to emulate the calm certainty that had seeped his chest that morning when he'd been holding Sarada in his arms.

Itachi sighed. "I wish I could tell you it gets better – but it never does."

Sasuke said nothing, but Itachi was his brother, and that meant he knew Sasuke well enough to have been formulating his lecture for a long time now. His voice, however, was the gentlest Sasuke had ever heard.

"I know it's eating you up. I know you're trying to rationalize it, and I know that this time, you being stubborn is not going to work."

Those words – their insight, the love and gentle reprimand behind them – they made Sasuke angry. They highlighted his helplessness, his defeat, his cowardice. The anger numbed away the pain in his head. It made him desperate enough to ask, "Then what do you suggest I do? Roll over? Let it consume me? Or take a leaf from Sakura's book and start doing stuff that's going to get us all in trouble?"

To his chagrin, Itachi actually smiled. "You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"

Sasuke bristled quietly, momentarily forgetting his broken body and shattered soul.

"I'll give you some advice, _otouto_. Try to follow your heart this time around. Your mind has always led you to certain doom."

* * *

Sasuke spent the rest of the day dealing with repercussions. Madara was furious about the Hyuga renegade. The body had to be taken care of. There was tons of paperwork to sift through, his head was throbbing like mad, his shoulder ached with each movement and Suigetsu apparently had his head in the clouds.

By the time evening rolled around, Sasuke was glad to catch a ride home with Itachi. He didn't say a single word on the way back, just kept his eyes closed and pretended he was asleep to avoid any other unsolicited advice. Back at the compound, just halfway towards his room, his steps automatically faltered. It was as if his mind was finally catching up to his tired body – he didn't have it in him to try and deceive Sarada – at least at that moment. He felt bone weary – tired in a way he'd felt only when he'd first discovered that he had an eight-year-old daughter who was on the brink of death.

He didn't fight his emotions this time, just turned around to his favorite _yuan_ , and sat down beside the _koi_ pond. The night air was crisp, and he closed his eyes against the gentle fingers of the breeze, letting it calm his thoughts. After a few, brief moments of complete, thoughtless bliss, he finally allowed himself to mull over Itachi's words.

 _Try to follow your heart this time around. Your mind has always led you to certain doom._

But Itachi was only half right. His heart was more often than not what got him in trouble in the first place. It had been his heart that had reached out to Sakura all those years ago. It had been his heart that had made him marry her not so long ago. And now, it was his heart that wanted to break free of the _gokudo_ for the sake of his daughter's future.

His mind was the only thing keeping him anchored to the present.

He felt at a complete loss of what to do next – of how to make things right.

"Papa?"

Tiredly, he turned around. Sarada stood behind him, looking worried and apprehensive. He didn't have the heart to reach out to her – and neither was he cold enough to completely ignore her. So he simply turned around and patted the spot beside him, hoping that he wouldn't have to face her this way.

She seemed happy enough to take a seat, but it caught him completely off-guard when she tentatively reached out for his hand, twined her small fingers through his own and leaned gently on his arm. Her affection was so unfettered, so without consequence that it made a lump rise in Sasuke's throat. Once again, he didn't know what to do with someone as pure as her, so he simply squeezed her hand and looked straight ahead, neither having the heart or the will or the guts to look her in the eye.

"Are you feeling better today?" she asked.

"Aa," he replied past the clogging in his throat, fighting the tremble that had started to make his hands quiver a little.

"You should be careful," she gently admonished. "I read that concussions can cause internal bleeding in the head. You can _die_ from that, you know."

Despite her sententious tone, he could detect the undercurrent of worry and panic in her voice. She'd obviously been agonizing over this the whole day, and Sasuke felt horrible for making her fret so much.

"I'm fine," he told her, squeezing her hand gently. "I'll try and be better."

She nodded, playing with their twined fingers. They spent a while in silence, and he let her presence and love sooth all the aches in his soul – tried to curb down the compunction he felt every time he wanted to look at her.

"Papa?" she said after a short while. "You know that I – believe in you, right?"

Those were such weighty words for a child that was barely nine years old, and they carried such meaning and assurance and warmth and tenderness and understanding that it completely broke his heart to hear them. Maybe it was all the emotions he'd been bottling up inside himself all this time, or maybe sometimes all you ever needed was an unconditional sort of love to break down all your walls, or maybe, Uchiha Sasuke had always needed an Uchiha Sarada in his life, because in that moment, he felt nothing and everything all at once – mortification at the way he'd lived his life, complete unadulterated love for his daughter, remorse for the way he'd treated and undermined Sakura, regret for not breaking away from the _gokudo_ when he'd had the chance, his unfettered attraction to Sakura, his guilt over tying down her wings – just everything, everything, overwhelming _everything_.

Belatedly, he realized that Sarada had broken their joined hands, and was now clutching his waist in a warm, affectionate hug. It was the last straw – it broke the armor around his heart, and Sasuke found himself holding her as tightly as he could while letting the tears fall. It was pure despair that morphed into tears and leaked from his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry – for being your Papa, for ruining your mother's life, for ruining your life_.

 _I'm sorry you ever had to know me._

He knew that Sarada must have been worried, that she must have been confused and perturbed, but she was also his rock, and she consoled him by holding him tighter and saying. "You're a good Papa. I'm sure you did your best."

And there was nothing in the world that could have assured him better or made him feel ten times worse.

* * *

Sometime later, Sarada fell asleep in his arms. He didn't know how long they sat by the pond, observing the fish, holding each other tight before she dozed off, but he knew that he'd better take her back to Sakura, who must have been worried.

His thoughts might have conjured her before him because he heard the soft shuffling of feet before she sat down beside him. A long beat passed in silence, after which, she asked, "Feel better?"

He suspected that she might have been lingering around for a while – might have seen him break down before Sarada. He found that he didn't mind, and the thing was, he really did – he felt better. He was still trapped in a hell of his own making, but right then, he didn't feel as suffocated as he'd been feeling all day. So he said, "Aa."

She fell quiet again, and he could feel the silence between then brimming with questions.

"What happened?" she asked eventually like he'd known that she would. Sakura was not a woman who shied away from hard questions.

It was just that he didn't have the courage to answer her. So instead, he smoothed Sarada's hair, fussed with her clothes and focused on the throbbing of his aching head and shoulder.

"Was it bad?" she asked again, persistent as always.

He felt compelled to at least answer that for her. "Aa," he mumbled, feeling ashamed.

She was an intelligent woman – clever and resourceful and astute. She was putting the pieces together in her head. "Do I want to know?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," he answered without preamble, hoping that she would leave it at that.

But she was Sakura – and she was nothing if not doggedly tenacious and stubborn, he'd come to find out. She was putting two and two together in her head. "Was it – did you–," she started, stopped, looked absolutely terrified.

He didn't have the courage to even look her in the face, so he just stayed quiet and let her scrutinize him. When it felt like she was about to burst open, he felt compelled to at least tell her a small portion of truth – not _the_ truth, but _his_ truth.

"I understand now," he told her at length, "why you did what you did. I – I'm sorry I ruined your life. I'm sorry I ruined _hers_ ," he said, nodding at Sarada in his lap, pursing his lips, trying to stop himself from saying more.

Maybe it was the contrition in his voice – or maybe she heard the small break in his words, but he could tell that she was completely taken by surprise. From the corner of his eye, he could see her frown, the tempest brewing in her beautiful eyes, the way she was carefully appraising his entire being.

"I know," she said eventually. "I believe you."

And they sat like that under the night sky for a little while longer.

"You have a lot to make up for," she told him.

"I will – I will try my best," he assured her.

* * *

 _Tbc_

 _Thank you to KunoichiAbi, Nytshyde, indraaas,_ _theClosetPoet7,_ _ineversleep123 and more for being so kind and helpful. I hope I did your expertise some justice, although I'm just floundering here. You guys are great._

 _Also, guys – I now need the help of a law enforcement professional. Anyone? :D_


End file.
